


Of Monsters and Men

by alias2335



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 74th Hunger Games, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Gale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alias2335/pseuds/alias2335
Summary: Take heed, Gale, for he who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become one.Gale in the Hunger Games AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

* * *

 1.- We are accidents waiting, waiting to happen.

* * *

 

Posy is curled up in my arms, her head resting against my chest and her tiny feet tucked under me to fight off the cold. Vick lays by my side, curled up in a ball. I see Rory and Mother on the smaller bed. Rory's lying face up, at the bed's edge, one foot and arm touching the ground. Mother holds Rory's other hand, bent towards him and breathing softly.

The corner of my lip twitches upwards.

Knowing Rory, as soon as he wakes he'll snatch his hand back, loudly proclaim himself to be too old to hold his mother's hand, even in sleep.

As I gaze at them, my smile turns into a frown, noticing Mother's eyes- still puffy and red from crying. We fought last night, same as every other year. I argued, as I've done ever since my 14th birthday, that she has to prepare for the eventuality of me getting picked for the Hunger Games.

Her response is a furious, "You won't get picked. _You won't._ "

She says it with such conviction, sometimes I believe her.

I can't even get mad at her for her naiveté- it's too easy to put myself in Mother's shoes and imagine one of my siblings getting reaped. The thought causes me physical pain, it clenches my stomach and weighs down my heart. But my frustration with Mother runs deeper than my empathy towards her. I don't understand why she won't accept the possibility- the very real possibility that I'll get reaped.

Yesterday's fight didn't last long, thankfully, everything that has to be said has already been said a thousand times, and this will be my last reaping. After today, our yearly argument will be resolved, one way or another. Then she'll fight with Rory, Vick, and eventually even Posy… I try not to think about it.

My frown deepens as I contemplate getting out of bed without waking my siblings.

I manage, eventually, to slide out.

Posy, like me, sleeps light and almost wakes, frowning, mumbling and turning around in my arms until I lay her back on the bed besides Vick. I dress silently and efficiently, looking back at my family only when I reach the door. Posy's still frowning, Vick hasn't moved at all since he fell asleep. Rory is turned on his side away from Mother, who's wide open eyes stare straight at me.

My breathing catches in my throat.

For a second I’m a little boy, terrified of being caught by his parents while sneaking out.

The moment passes.

Mother's still not completely awake, as she groggily looks up at me.

"Gale? It's still night out" she whispers, so as not to wake up her other children.

I cross the room and kneel by the bed, stroking her dark hair, exactly the same shade as mine, to soothe her back to sleep.

"Yeah. I'm going to go see if I can catch something to trade for the early market. I'll be back at midday to help with the kids." I whisper.

Mother sighs, nodding. She curls around Rory in an unconscious gesture of protection.

Outside, the moon hides behind clouds, yet still offers a meager amount of light for me to see the path.

I shiver with the pre-dawn chill, zip up my jacket and set off towards the woods at a brisk pace. I estimate the time to be around 4:30 in the morning. At this hour, the only one walking the soot covered roads of the Seam is me.

District 12 is separated from the woods by a fence, and I crawl under it to get to the other side. It's supposed to be electrified, both to keep out animals and to discourage poachers like myself, but because keeping the fence on means wasting electricity and money our District doesn't have, the fence remains un-electrified.

I cross the field and enter the forrest. Walking in the woods has a different rhythm than being in the district. The leaves crunch softly beneath my leather boots, birds cry in the trees to one another, cicadas and other insects click and buzz around while the leaves rustle with the wind going by.

I enter the woods tense and stiff, but eventually, as I catch a couple of decent sized squirrels, that tension wears off. By the time I return to District 12, the sky has gotten lighter, still before 6, but people are beginning to wake up.

I go into the wealthier part of town.

In 12 no one is actually rich, but the merchant class does have a better living standard than us in the Seam.

I smell freshly baked bread blocks away from the bakery, and my mouth waters, so I head that way.

I knock on the baker's back door. He's blond and bulky, with crowfeet around his kind eyes, indicating that he finds things to smile about, even in a place as unjust and despairing as 12. A quiet, polite man.

"Good morning Gale" he says.

I incline my head a little in greeting as well before talking, "Good morning Mr. Mellark, I was wondering if you'd trade me these squirrels for some bread?"

I recognize the sorrow in his eyes when he gives me a fresh out of the oven loaf for only one of the squirrels, an unfair trade.

On any other day, his pity would insult me, but today I'm just grateful for the unburnt bread, and wave awkwardly goodbye when he calls out a "good luck" to me.

I'm going to need luck today. I sell the other squirrel to the butcher, getting a couple of coins in return before heading back to the woods. I wait, lying down between the rocks and grass, letting the morning dew seep into my back and watching as the sky changes colors. When I see Katniss coming towards me, I smile. She's wearing her hunting clothes, her long braid tucked into her jacket and her bow in one hand.

"Hey Catnip" I call out, showing her the loaf of bread. I've speared it with an arrow just to see her laugh. She does, and her presence alone makes me suddenly enjoy the day. Katniss, like me, has the Seam look. Dark hair, olive skin, grey eyes- unlike the merchants, who tend to be pale, light eyed and light haired.

She's younger than me, 16, and my best friend. We talk and eat the bread with wild berries and some goat cheese Catnip's sister Prim made for us. Today is Reaping Day, yet we pretend that it doesn't mean anything, joking about the terrible fate awaiting us this afternoon. Spending time together in each others company is easy, calming.

I look at Katniss as she closes her eyes and savors her food, thinking like I so often do of running away with her. She's beautiful, strong, clever... maybe it's the date or maybe because I've never been one to stay silent about what I'm thinking I open my mouth.

"We could do it, you know."

She blinks at me in confusion, "What?"

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it." I tell her.

The moment I say it I can tell it's a mistake. Katniss' face has always been incredibly expressive, and in the 4 years we've known each other, ever since we both took to the woods, trying to provide for our families by filling in for our deceased fathers, I've come to know what she's thinking by just the barest twitch of a muscle in her face.

Her slightly raised eyebrow and frowning lips say what a ridiculous idea she thinks it is.

I try to fix it. "If we didn't have so many kids" I joke, and she loosens up minimally.

She probably thinks it's something I've just thought up and haven't thought through. But I have. If she'd agree, I'd tell Mother, get her to pack up, take Rory and Vick and Posy into the woods. Katniss could take her mother and little sister Primrose as well. Maybe even the goat. We could go in pretty deep, find a place well protected. I could build us a house, we could live of the land, be happy and never have to worry about Panem, about District 12, about the Hunger Games.

We could start a family.

As if reading my thoughts, Katniss shoots the idea down.

"I never want kids" she says, frowning as I look at her sideways.

"I might. If I didn't live here."

She glares at me, irritated, "But you do."

I get annoyed as well. She can be amazingly dense when she wants to. I've been trying to show her how I feel about her for the past few months. Trying to demonstrate in the little details of our lives how little by little I've been falling in love with her, and she's being incredibly obtuse about it all.

"Forget it." I snap, and we leave it at that.

We spend the morning fishing, Catnip simply enjoying the day, me trying to forget our earlier argument. We catch a good amount of fish, a bunch of greens and pick strawberries to take back. We make a pretty good profit in the Hob, the Seam's black market, and afterwards set off to town to sell the strawberries. Knowing how the Mayor has a soft spot for berries, we go to his home and his daughter answers the door. The girl, I can vaguely remember her name starting with M, is wearing noticeably expensive clothes. A white dress, a pink ribbon, a gold pin.

"Nice dress" I tell her, and she looks at me, wondering if I'm making fun of her or actually complimenting her.

A little bit of both, actually, but mostly it just bothers me knowing that what she's wearing could be traded into a couple weeks of good food for my family.

"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" she says.

My face goes blank, a preventive measure I developed years ago to disguise the anger always simmering beneath my skin, momentarily spilling over now, and I snap back.

"You won't be going to the Capitol" I tell her, trying to control my voice and face.

"What can you have?" I wonder aloud, "Five entries? I had six when I was just 12 years old."

The girl's face has become stony as well. It's something you learn from an early age if you live in 12, how to disguise your emotions and thoughts, so no one can know if you're thinking something you shouldn't be, like I so often do.

I hear Katniss and the girl say goodbye, and we head back home, to the Seam. Catnip looks at me from time to time, frowning. She doesn't understand, not really. Katniss knows the system is wrong. She knows I hate the government for forcing me, for forcing _us_ to pick up Tesserae, to be put in extra danger each year.

I've got 42 entries in the death bowl condemning me, Katniss has maybe 20, and she's still got 2 years to go.

But Catnip's mind doesn't work like mine. Unless something affects her directly she won't do anything to change it. One of the most frustrating things about her. She's incredibly talented, incredibly beautiful, but also incredibly indecisive.

"Wear something nice," I tell her snidely when we part, and try to control my rage before heading inside my own house.

Posy jumps me as soon as I'm inside the door, screaming happily and tugging on my pant leg to let her see what I've brought.

I leave the food- fish, salt, bread and strawberries- a good meal- all on the table before picking up my sister from the ground and kissing her cheek.

She squeals delightedly.

"Gaaa-leeee! You're scratchy!" she says, rubbing her cheek but grinning anyways.

I put her down and rub Vicks head as I pass him by, messing up his still wet hair. He squawks indignantly.

"I _just_ fixed it Gale!" he hisses.

I snort in amusement. Vick's hair is thicker than the rest of us, more like our fathers; it always looks matted and messy no matter what he does. It amuses me to watch him struggle with it. My eyes hunt for Rory, and I find him sitting on his bed, arms and legs crossed, glaring at the wall. Sighing, the moment of playfulness gone, I catch Mother's eye. She looks resigned, shakes her head.

Today will be hard for Rory, no doubt about it. It's his first reaping, and he's nervous. Lately he's decided to be difficult, entering that stage when teens tend to rebelliously lash out at family and friends. I get it, I wasn't 12 that long ago, but being on the other side of things shows how annoying it is to deal with a boy who wants comfort but doesn't want to show it.

"Hey Rory," I say casually, walking towards the wooden dresser holding all the family's clothes.

I rummage around, looking for something nice, or at the very least clean.

"Join me out back will you?" I don't wait for his answer and instead take a rough towel, a pair of trousers and a shirt that used to belong to my father and go out the kitchen door.

I don't take a bath; our shower has been acting strangely for a couple of days, and I've been meaning to fix it but haven't found the time.

Instead, I strip down to my underwear and take the water hose and spray myself with it. The water is ice cold, prompting me to be fast. The neighbor's daughter, a 14 year old girl whose name I don't know takes one look at me and squeals, dropping the clothes she was setting on a line and running back into her own house.

I let water run down my hair and turn off the hose, shaking my head to get the excess out of my hair. Rory yelps behind me having followed me out, getting wet for his trouble.

I grin.

"Sorry" I say, quickly toweling off and putting on my clothes.

With a bar of soap I wash my hands, and use the foam to lather into my face.

With my hunting knife, the sharpest and most well taken care of item I own and a cracked mirror we have outside I quickly shave. It's just a bit of stubble, less than a weeks worth of hair, but between the Mayor's daughter's pretty dress and Posy getting fussy about my rough face, I decide to get rid of it.

After the initial protest of getting wet, Rory stands quietly behind me, so I start to talk.

"Did you help Mother this morning with Posy and Vick? You knows how she gets on Reaping Day" He grumbles a bit, shuffles his feet around but nods.

I smile at him, trying to lighten his mood.

"Good. You don't have to be worried you know, the odds are very much in your favor."

It's true, even though he's put his name in twice this year for the extra tesserae. Two slips of paper equals a very low chance of reaping. Even a school dropout like me knows that.

Next year Rory will have to put his name in at least four times, but probably more, and I'm truly pissed off about that, since I'll be out of the sorting by then, and so unable to help. That's still an entire year away, so for now he's still relatively safe, and we'll worry about the next reaping tomorrow.

My words don't have the effect I thought they'd have on him, and Rory clenches his fists and glares at me. Surprised, I nick my cheek a bit, close to my chin, and stop shaving. I'm pretty much done anyways.

"You stupid… It's not _me_ I'm worried about!" He looks away brusquely, tears he refuses to let fall gathering on his lashes.

Oh.

Well, shit.

I don't know what to say to that. I clean my face with more water, rub the towel on my face, thinking.

When I'm done, I go over to Rory and kneel in front of him, like my father used to do with me. A pang goes through my heart thinking about him. It feels strange, imitating my father like this. Out of us all I think Rory and Vick took Dad's death the worst.

I had to grow up fast after his death, yes, but at least I had a pretty okay childhood for a Seam kid before that.

Rory and Vick knew Dad, knew how capable and good he was at being there for us, despite all the hardships. Then, suddenly he was gone, and all they had to fill in that void was me. That's pretty rough for a six and eight year old. Unlike Posy, who never got to meet him, they know I can never measure up. Still, for the sake of our family, I have to try.

Closing my eyes for a second, trying to think what Dad would say to me, I speak to my brother.

"Rory, listen. I know the odds aren't great, but I might not be selected-" He interrupts me before I can finish.

"You've got your name in the bowl 42 times this year! _42 times_! I don't think _anyone_ has as many slips as you do! I'm not an _idiot_ Gale, I know what that means! It's why you fought with mama yesterday! What happens if-" He cuts himself of, avoids my eyes by looking at the sky, bitting his lip, struggling not to cry in frustration.

I grab his hands and shake him.

"Rory. Stop. Look at me." When he does I try to smile reassuringly, but considering how shaken I am, I'm not sure it comes out that way.

"Look, yes, 42's a lot, but there's thousands of names in that bowl okay? Its just about luck. Besides, even if I do get picked…"

I have to stop for a second, my heart clenching at just the thought of it, and force myself to say the rest.

"Even if I do get picked… I might have a good chance." Internally I wince, unsure of how much I believe that myself.

Objectively thinking about it, I'm 6'3, have been in a lot of fights since I was a kid, and sure, I've been hunting these last 4 years and so know how to get food without much help… but it's the Hunger Games.

23 to 1 odds, everyone trying to kill you, not hurt you, _kill you_ \- plus careers with advantages, terrible arenas and Gamemakers out to get you.

If I am reaped... I don't think I could get out at all. But Rory doesn't know that I think that way, and he looks hopeful.

"Really Gale? You think you could win? Wait, of course you can! I bet no one would expect you to come out of District 12, you're great."

I smile sadly a little at Rory's sudden change of heart, at his obvious hero worship for his older brother, yet can't help but feeling guilty. Giving false hope isn't something I like to do. I stand up and hug him.

"We'll be fine either way, okay?" I say.

He smiles up at me, nodding.

"Promise?" I nod once, holding out my pinky finger, an old ritual of ours. He holds out his as well, wrapping it around mine, then cuts it with a chop from his other hand.

"Promise." I say.

Rory turns around, heading back inside. I pass my hand through my still damp head, and looking up see my mother's face staring at me through the cracked window, a blank look on her face.

I look away.

We all finish getting ready to head out to the town square. When we leave the house I squeeze Mother's hand and smile shakily at her. She sighs and leans her head on my shoulder for a second before visibly putting herself together, grabbing Vick's hand and walking ahead, head held high and back straight.

I carry Posy until I reach the edge of the square, then hand her over to Mother. I hug them- Mother, Vick and Posy, and they hug me and Rory back, wishing us both luck. We turn away and get into the lines. Rory's shaking a little, and I know despite his earlier words, he is very much afraid for himself as well. I squeeze his shoulder and leave him in the back with the boys his age before heading towards my own age group.

I don't have many guy friends- actually, I don't have many friends at all except for Catnip, but as I approach the other 18 year olds Thom Hornwood waves at me.

I shake hands with a couple of old classmates, nod to a few other boys in greeting and go to stand besides him.

"All right there Gale?" he says, and I shrug.

"As all right as could be expected today I suppose," I respond, "Yourself?"

He moves his head from side to side, balancing from foot to foot.

"Not too bad, not too bad... My missus promised she'd take me to her parents house today if I wasn't reaped. They have rabbit stew. _Rabbit stew_ , goodness, I can't even imagine how good merchant rabbit stew must be like."

He twists around to look for his girl, a small grey faced thing he fooled around with until he got her pregnant a few months back. I wave a hand in greeting before focusing my attention on finding Katniss. I spot her with a couple of other Seam girls and exhale sharply.

She's wearing her hair up, and a blue dress that looks absolutely incredible. I stare at her all throughout the beginning of the ceremony- the Panem anthem, the Mayor's repetitive history lesson… from time to time I do look up at the stage and so see when Haymitch Abernathy, District 12's only living victor and the town drunk stumbles on stage and flops onto Effie Trinket.

Afterwards, she tries to regain some dignity by giving her typical introduction,

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

When I look back towards Katniss I find her finally looking at me, smiling at the obviously ridiculous antics on the stage, and I almost smile back.

But the moment doesn't last long, and her eyes flash with fear. We remember who and where we are; me with 42 death sentences and her with 20, so I turn my eyes away. Effie steps up, her pink wig a little crooked, and thrills in her capitol accented voice, "Ladies first!" like she always does.

I find it difficult to breathe, not blinking as she gives one, two, three, four steps towards the big bowl on her left, hear the absolute silence as her hand enters the bowl, shakes the slips of paper a bit. With delicate, clawed fingers she grabs one and holds it out.

Smiling, she opens it, looks at the name, goes back to the microphone and-

"Mera Danod!"

An audible breath of relief goes through almost everyone in the square.

Some girls hug each other in comfort, some cry, some laugh softly. Everyone but the girl whose name has been picked.

I see her, a skinny Seam kid with hunched shoulders, charcoal black oily hair that hangs limply bellow her chin. She trembles, holding back tears as she slowly… ever so slowly walks towards the podium.

Poor kid. I judge her age to be around 13, though considering how underfed and small most Seam people are, she might be older.

My eyes find Catnip again. The tension has all but drained out of her. She looks on with sadness at the girl, but I know her.

In her mind, her thoughts are _I'm safe. It's not me._ Always the survivor, my Catnip.

Mera arrives to the top of the stairs and walks on to the podium. Effie grabs her hand.

"Well then! Everyone, a round of applause for our first tribute!" Some people clap, others don't. It's done mechanically and somberly, an obligation.

I stay still, staring at the poor girl quietly crying on the stage. She's already given up. She's not even going to try. I've seen her type before; she'll probably die fast.

"Well now! It is time to choose our boy tribute!" warbles Effie Trinket, leaving Mera on the stage alone as she crosses over to the second bowl.

Everything seems to slow down again as I see her put her hand into the bowl, stir once and take out the piece of paper. Just as before, she opens it and reads it first before turning back to her microphone.

 _It's me, It's me,_ I think, my conviction so great I almost don't hear when she actually reads the name. I see her lips move, I process the sound, but I don't get it, not at first. It sounds like me, but after a moment my brain understands Effie Trinket's exact words and I realize.

 

 

She said Rory.

 

 

Not Gale.

Rory Hawthorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from the song There There by Radiohead.
> 
> The first couple of chapters will be similar to The Hunger Games, then its going to start drifting in a different direction.
> 
> Mera Danod is an OC, but she's got a small role in the story, so I hope it doesn't turn anyone away from this. Her name is an anagram of Andromeda, of Greek mythology fame.
> 
> This story got into my head and refused to go away. I feel quite proud of it, and hope you, the reader, enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

2-. Parting is such sweet sorrow

* * *

 

Rory Hawthorne.

My body moves before my mind has even caught up with what's going on. Thom turns towards me, his mouth open, about to say something, and I shove him away, moving as fast as I can to the place where I left my little brother. I glimpse him in between a couple of other 12 year olds, see him visibly shaking, his face a sheet of white paper, looking like he's about to faint.

I can hear two things around me, the quiet joy of the boys who have not been selected, and the unhappy murmuring of the crowd as they realize that it's a 12 year old who has been reaped, talking in low tones as they do about how incredibly unfair it all is. I pass by some boy talking with his friends in disappointment, saying how absolutely useless 12 will be this year, even worse than usual, how we'll be out by the time the initial bloodbath is over. Both tributes have no hope of survival.

My brother stumbles his first step towards the stage, then stops, his eyes widening in dismay as his face becoming a mask of anguish and tears gather in his eyes. He shakes his head a little in disbelief, takes two tiny steps back.

The Peacekeepers standing around the edge of all the prospective tributes, separating the other people of 12 from us begin to advance slowly, spreading out and ready to surround Rory. They'll drag him up the stairs if they need to, hold him down or hit him if he struggles until he complies, we've all seen it happen before.

 

No.

 

I won't let them. There aren't many boys still around Rory, most of them take a step back, as if getting reaped is a disease and its contagious, but I push any that are still in my path, ignoring their cries of ' _hey_!' and ' _watch it_!'. 

I kneel in front of him, gathering him into my arms. Rory jumps into me, buries his face into my neck and starts sobbing. I stand up, his legs wrap around me and it feels like he's 8 again, after Dad died. I'd cried too, when the messenger had come to our house and told us the mine tunnel he was working in had collapsed, crumbled and buried him where it was impossible to reclaim the bodies. But I had held myself together in front of my siblings, told Rory and Vick that it was all right, that we'd make it out all right, despite it all.

And we had.

It'd been difficult, Mother getting another job so fast after Posy was born, me going into the woods for food, taking up so many extra tesserae I'm still surprised to this day that they let me- but we'd all survived. 

I remember making a promise to myself after trading my first squirrel in the Hob, holding two coins in my hand, that I would protect my family, any way I could. Up until today I'd kept that promise.

Well,  _Effie Trinket_  and the Capitol were not going to make a liar out of me. The Peacekeepers, 3 of them, approach us cautiously, in case I attack them- it's happened before. I know all the camera's in 12 are pointing at me, the entire country will watch this, if they aren't watching already, so I put on a mask of smooth indifference. I'm very good at it, controlling my face muscles to show no emotion, having had years to practice to hide the thoughts that could get me killed. It's only my eyes that betray me, showing all my anger and turmoil to the world.

"Give the kid to us" says the closest Peacekeeper, a baton in one hand, ready to use against me if I refuse.

Rory's arms tighten around me, his terrified sobbing cutting off in fear. 

"That won't be necessary" I tell them, loudly, so even up on the podium they can hear me,

"I volunteer as tribute in his place."

 The plaza goes silent, and the Peacekeepers stop advancing. Rory freezes against me. I look for Katniss, knowing Mother will not be allowed inside the ropes despite her son being reaped, and I don't want to leave my brother alone right now.

I find Katniss easily, I know where she is after all, and as if she's read my mind, she begins making her way towards me. We meet in the middle of the plaza, the Peacekeepers let me pass by them without any trouble. Distantly, I can hear Effie Trinket trying to regain control of the situation, simpering about the procedure of volunteering, wondering what the rules are, and the Mayor tiredly responding, "Does it matter?"

Rory doesn't want to let go of me, but with a few soothing words from me and from Katniss he moves and latches onto her without much trouble. I try to keep my emotions in check, through it all, balancing my feelings and what I show on my face to calm down my brother and at the same time not give away anything about myself to everyone watching.

 "Go now," Katniss says when she's finally gotten hold of Rory.

 I can see that his weight bothers her. Katniss is pretty small- strong yes, thanks to the years of being out in the woods, but small, and Rory is big for a 12 year old, even though he's smaller than I was at that age. Her eyes show a fierce determination when she looks at me, knowing that saying anything right now is counterproductive, but trying to transmit whatever she's thinking right now only with her eyes.

 I want to kiss her- instead I turn away and walk towards the stage. The people around me get out of my way so its a straight path. I can see admiration, pity, sadness and shock on many of their faces. I'm probably District 12's only volunteer, ever. At least no one has ever volunteered in all the years I've been alive. My gaze doesn't wander, and I stare straight ahead, I remain cool and composed, aloof.

 

Effie greets me at the top of the stairs, smiling widely.

 "Oh my! What an exiting turn of events! Tell me, what's your name?" she says, looking at me expectantly, and my first thought is to snap at her, say something like none of your damn business.

 Except it is her business, now I've become everyone's business. I run my hand through my hair once, to calm myself down.

"Gale Hawthorne" I say. Effie Trinket's eyes light up in understanding.

 "Oh! Is that boy your brother then? Poor dear, he didn't look ready at all! Well then, a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

 I turn to look at the crowd stone faced.

Slowly, they start clapping. Everyone. They start hollering, whistling, screaming out my name and sending me their best wishes. No one stops clapping or making noise when Effie tries to calm them down, instead cheering louder. A small sign of rebellion. My eyes find Katniss. She has lowered Rory down to the ground, but he's still hugging her, face hidden, and she's got her sister Prim on her other side, holding onto them both tightly. Katniss stares at me with such pain in her eyes, such sadness. She slowly lifts her left hand to her mouth, kissing three fingers and holding them out to me.

People around her notice, and copy the gesture. Not everyone does it, but some of the boys and girls in the front rows do, and everyone I know from the Seam.

Thom, Greasy Sae, my mother... it's a gesture unique to our District. It means admiration, and goodbye to someone you love. I can feel my mask begin to slip, I'm in danger of saying or doing something stupid and rash, but Haymitch Abernathy, District 12's only living victor and the most unlikely of saviors stumbles out of his seat and heads towards me. 

He grabs me with surprising strength, and slurs something about courage, then turns around, apparently forgetting me to point tauntingly at the camera's, at the government saying things I wish I could say. I don't know if I should be amazed or wary of this man... well, at least until he trips with his own feet in a shocking demonstration of instability, slumping over and tumbling to the ground, knocking himself unconscious.

The ceremony ends.

Effie Trinket storms off the podium as soon as it's over, her pink wig in disarray and her usually impeccable clothing wrinkled. She looks furious- as furious as I've ever seen her. District 12 humiliated her today, between Haymitch's absurd behavior and the people in general disobeying her, this year has been a disaster up until now. Everyone knows she hates 12, and today has been particularly unkind to her.

The female tribute and I are led into the Justice Building, a place I've only been twice before. Once when my father died and once... to say goodbye to a friend. The girl and I are each put into different rooms, then left alone.

Running my hand through my hair again I look around. It's an expensive looking place, carpets on the floor and the couch made of heavy lacquered wood and covered in luxurious looking fur. I collapse into the couch, it's cushions bouncing slightly- and put my head into my hands.

I have an hour to say goodbye to my friends and loved ones, thats how this works. I sit completely still, trying to think what I'm going to say to Mother. To Rory. To Vick and Posy. To Katniss.

My siblings come in first, all at once, Rory and Vick bursting through the door and running towards me, Posy trying to keep up with them but falls behind on her childish legs. Vick and Rory climb onto the couch to each sit on either side of me and bury their faces into my shoulders. I pick Posy up and cradle her to my chest. She's crying hard, not truly understanding what is going on around her, but catching on to the atmosphere and high emotions of everyone.

It takes a couple of minutes just to calm her down, rubbing my hand on her back, telling her meaningless, soothing things.

Well.

Mostly I just repeat, "Its okay, its okay, don't cry Posy," over and over until she stops crying and starts to quietly hiccup instead. Vick cries as well, but soundlessly. He's always been the one to say the least in our family, and considering none of us are particularly vocal, that's saying a lot. He talks only when necessary, not because he's shy, just because he enjoys silence. 

Rory's eyes are red, his face still pale and puffy, but he's calmed down. He looks guilty, shocked, sad… so so confused. All this emotion, all that has happened, it's too much for a 12 year old to handle. 

I try to talk to them in the same even, soothing voice I use to calm Posy. I tell Rory to go to Katniss, she'll show him how to hunt, how to move in the woods. Since I won't be around he's going to have to learn. Katniss and I made a pact, when we first became friends, that if either of us was ever reaped we'd take care of each other's families. But I know that as much as Katniss will want to, providing for 7 people on her own is going to be too much. She can try, and I'm sure she will, but Rory has to learn. He's going to be the man of the house now, I say, he's going to have to be ready.

I tell them not to take too many Tessera. Rory can take 3 extra's next year, but no more. Then, when Vick turns 12, they should continue taking 2 each, never more than that. I'm frightened just letting them do that much, because if Rory was chosen with just two slips of paper out of thousands… what will more do? I hate it, hate this system and these circumstances, but none of us are naïve enough to think they'll all survive without me and without Tesserae either. Mother's job pays, but not enough for a household of 5- no, of 4. I forbid Posy from ever putting her name in for food more than once, and Rory and Vick agree. She's their baby sister too. Thankfully Posy's still so young, it won't be an issue for years to come.

Posy's big grey eyes look up to me in such a way that I feel the calm act I'm putting on for them and for the rest of the world begin to fall apart.

I always think about the worst case scenarios, and my imagination decides to run wild now. I imagine my baby sister growing gaunt (more than usual for a Seam kid) and dying of starvation. Posy's the little ray of hope at home, she'd been the only good thing to come out of the entire year after Dad died, saying little things that just made Mother and me work harder to provide. But she's so tiny, so young… I want to see her grow up and become a beautiful young girl, laughing and being charming, learning to read and write, run and hunt.

It's that thought, the thought of not seeing any of them, Rory and Vick and Posy grow up that almost breaks me. I loosen my arms from around Posy and instead wrap them around both my brothers, lifting my head upwards to look at the ceiling, then clenching my eyes shut. I imagine Rory growing up to be like me. We already look so alike, its not hard. I'm pretty certain that I'll always be taller, but he'll get wider, stockier. Girls will all flock around him, though he'll probably be pissy and mean to them because that's just the way Rory is. Mean to people he doesn't know, but fiercely protective of everyone he does. I can already picture how amazingly awkward it is going to be when he begins actually liking girls and wanting to talk to them. 

Vick's the opposite in appearance; he's only 10 and already tall and lanky, his face thinner and longer than Rory and me. He always hunches his skinny shoulders forwards, and spends a lot of time reading and observing from quiet corners. If he'd been born a merchant, I'm certain he would have gotten a job at the justice building. He might even have become a teacher. But we're all too poor for that, so I know that both of my brothers, and probably even my sister will all go work in the mines when they come of age.

Posy... it's too soon to tell what Posy is going to look like, she's only 4 now. 

Vick says something while I'm thinking all of this and I don't hear him.

"What?" I say, blinking and looking down at him. Vick's eyes are sad and hopeful as he repeats his previous words.

"None of it will be necessary if you win Gale."

Rory and Posy look at me with open, expectant faces as well, both of them clenching my shirt with white hands.

 

Shit.

 

I can't look Rory in the eye and tell him that what I said this morning was all a lie, so instead I smile at them, ruffling Vick's hair. Usually me doing that bothers him so much, but this time he doesn't say anything about it. Probably because he knows it's the last time I'm going to be doing it. My throat feels a little dry, and I feel the accumulated exhaustion of not sleeping well yesterday and waking up so early this morning start to get me down. I push it away.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm pretty strong" I say with bravado so false I swear they'll call me out. Instead, they jump on it.

"You're more than just strong Gale!" says Rory, "You said it this morning, you can hunt too! And you're really tall! And handsome as well so I bet you'll get a bunch of sponsors!"

Posy doesn't really understand what we are talking about, but still nods her head so fast, her hair falls into her face and she has to comb it back before earnestly speaking up. "And you're super nice, so you'll make lottsa friends!"

I wince.

Posy is too young to know that making friends in the arena is bad, because in the end there's only ever one Victor, and so knowing the people you have to kill makes it more difficult, makes you hesitate and gives them time to finish you off first. Besides, I'm not nice. I'm kind to my sister, and to Mother and to Vick and Rory and Katniss and Prim, but that's it. I'm pretty unsociable to the rest of the world.

"Also no one will expect you to be any good so they'll underestimate you" says Vick.

I shrug, noncommittally, unwilling to think of the arena just quite yet. Instead I say,

"All of you are right. Besides, if I win, we'll be rich"

I can tell that our time is almost up. All I want to do is sit here with them forever. Posy must sense our time drawing close as well because she sits up, takes off the necklace she's wearing around her neck and gives it to me. It's a leather band with 5 transparent glass balls tied on it.

"Take this for luck" she says, and it sounds a bit rehearsed, so I imagine Mother or one of our brothers told her to do it. After all, she doesn't know the significance of what she's doing. I kiss her forehead and accept it. I'm allowed a token, and Posy's necklace was made by Dad, a long time ago, days before he was killed in the mine.

I remember him coming home exited one day with the beads in his hand, telling me how he'd won them in a game against the pawnshop owner, how he'd taken the leather off the hem of his hunting jacket carefully with a knife and tied it all together into the necklace. I remember him kissing mother's stomach and telling her it would be a good luck charm for their little girl.

How Dad knew Posy would be a girl I'll never know.

This necklace... it's special.

The Peacekeeper outside opens the door and tells us our time is up, it's time for my siblings to leave. I hug Rory and Vick individually, then Posy, one last time, then prompt them to leave with light pushes on their backs. I see them start walking towards the door, shuffling slowly, reluctantly.

Rory stops and turns around.

"You promised me everything would be okay this morning. Promise me now that you'll try to win"

I feel like such an ass for making false promises to my brother. But on the other hand… he didn't say promise to win… just promise to try. I can do that. I'm going to do that anyways. I hold out my pinky finger, and Rory runs back to me. Vick does as well, as does Posy. They all wrap they're tiny fingers around my bigger one, and I think I really will cry this time, when Rory cuts it.

"I promise" I tell them, then stand up and walk to the window; I don't want to see them leave. If I die, this is a good last memory of them. All gathered around me and hopeful. I hear them walk out; protesting a little against the shoving Peacekeeper, and then someone else come in. I recognize her by her light, even steps. Mother.

I turn to face her as she walks towards me, arms open and step into her hug. We hold each other tightly.

"Mama" I hear myself say.

I haven't called her that since I was 8, but I can't help myself, now.

"I know baby" she says.

She pulls back, takes a couple of steps away so she can look at my face without craning her head up. Hazelle Hawthorne is a tall woman, and thinking about it, I never actually realized when it was that I passed her in height. Years ago, but I can't picture exactly when.

"Mama, when I'm gone make sure that Rory and Vick stay in school, make sure they don't watch the worst parts of the games, and-" I start, but she grabs on to my hands tightly and shakes her head, stopping me.

"No Gale. Don't think about us. I'll manage everything here, you don't think about anything else other than the Games. Concentrate on staying alive."

I swallow a lump in my throat. Not her, too. Surely they all must know I'm going to die… she stares at me, and being my mother, I know she has already guessed what I'm thinking.

"Stop it. I'm not saying this because I'm deluded. I know you, son, and I know that if anyone in District 12 can win, its you. You're more than you give yourself credit for. You remember how to make rope out of grass?"

I nod silently, as she starts quizzing me on different knots, traps, snares. It was Mother that taught me how to make them, how to track and catch animals. When she was young she used to go out into the forest just like I do now to get meat for her family too. Dad taught me how to use a knife and how to fight, but it'll be Mother's knowledge now that will keep me hidden, that will keep me from starving in the arena.

She quizzes me for long minutes about small things, how to find water, how to tie a double knot, how to skin a squirrel and how to dispose of the useless parts of a carcass. When the peacekeeper opens the door again, signaling the end of our time together and telling her to leave, I realize that I'm much calmer than I was when my brothers and sister left.

More focused as well, thinking clearer.

Mother sighs, looking pained. Her dark wavy hair is held up in a ponytail, and a piece of it has fallen into her face. She steps close to me again, stands on her toes and kisses my cheek softly before smoothing out the wrinkles in my clothes.

"I love you Gale" she says, "Don't forget that, whatever happens, whatever you have to do. I'm proud of you" With a soft smile she turns and leaves, her back straight, head held high.

I stare after her, emotions high- grateful, amazed.

Mother is a truly strong woman. When Dad died, she hid her grief from us, comforted us, found a job and kept us together. Now she has to watch her oldest son fight and kill, and die. Whatever happens, stony eyed and worried, she'll manage.

I'm surprised by my next visitor. The Mayor's daughter.

"I'm so sorry," She says, "I'm so sorry for this morning, I didn't mean it. I never try to be deliberately cruel-" I stop her before she says anything else.

"Its fine." I'm a little brusque, not intentionally, only trying to remember her name. I think she notices my dilemma because she smiles.

"Its Madge. Madge Undersee."

Madge, right. I knew there was an 'M' in there somewhere. I run my hand through my hair. I do that when I'm nervous or frustrated, an almost unconscious tick that I have no real control over. I've been doing it so much today that my hair is beginning to stick up a little, almost like Vick's untamable locks. I use the same hand to smooth my hair back down.

How embarrassing, forgetting her name. We've never talked directly, but we have crossed paths before and I know she knows my name, who I am. To me she's always only been the mayor's daughter, as well as Catnip's school friend.

"I wanted to give you something" says Madge, and unbuckles the pin on her dress.

"Will you wear it? Every tribute is allowed a token and I thought maybe you could use this to remember District 12."

She holds out the pin to me.

"I'm really sorry... Madge," I say, and I really am, "But I can't take that. My sister already gave me a token…" I hold out the necklace Posy gave me, it's been clutched in my hand since she and the boys left. Madge blushes.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I should have guessed… do you need help putting it on?"

I nod, thinking this has got to be the most bizarre conversation I've ever had. She walks over to me, and I step away from the window as well, towards her. I give her the necklace and she undoes the knot holding it closed with deft fingers. Posy can wear it loosely on her neck without having to untie the thing, but when the Mayor's daughter holds it out I can tell the necklace won't fit around my own neck at all.

Madge notices as well. "Hold out your hand," she says instead, so I do. She wraps the necklace around my wrist twice, then ties it off. The beads sparkle a little in the light. Its a little loose, but not uncomfortably so. I look at Madge, grateful.

"Thank you" I say genuinely, knowing the idea would never have occurred to me. Knowing me, I'd have probably tied the necklace to my clothing or something, otherwise I'd just have stuffed it into a pocket once I noticed it didn't fit. It might have even fallen off, and I'd never have forgiven myself if that happened.

Madge blushes and smiles at me. "You're welcome."

She's very pretty.

We sit side by side on the couch, waiting for the Peacekeeper, and even though we stay silent it's not awkward. She shakes my hand when her time is up- shakes the hand with the bracelet on it.

She leaves and Katniss, finally, finally, walks in.

I stand up, cross the room as fast as I can and she jumps into my arms. She smells like pine, soap and earth and smoke and she's just perfect.

I realized it a while ago, but having her here is a blunt reminder. I love her, and this is probably the last time I'll ever see her. Katniss starts talking, fast, before we've even broken the embrace.

"Gale you have to get yourself a bow and arrow. Well, that and maybe a knife? If you have those, you can win. Definitely. There will probably be a forest, or at least some trees, ever since that year when all the tributes froze to death there's always been something like that-"

I try not to think of the year with only the rocky mountains, or the year in the desert, or the year in a swamp when she says this, because I know she's talking to calm her own nerves down as well as mine.

Katniss knows that I am aware of what my best chance of survival are- I know myself better than anyone after all.

"You won't starve, I'm sure of it. You can hunt, you can probably hunt down the other tributes too, track them down as if they were deer, or mountain lions, or anything really. It can't be that difficult, most won't know how to cover their tracks."

I let her babble on, just to hear the sound of her voice, and hold on to her. Katniss' body fits mine perfectly. She's relatively small, so I can wrap myself around her easily, and it feels so good, to be this close to her.

I know our time is almost up, so it's really now or never, and with me, I don't like considering never as an option.

"Katniss" I say, not Catnip, my nickname for her, because this is serious.

She looks up at me with her beautiful grey eyes, and I let go of her waist, move my hands so that I'm holding her face between them gently. She looks uncertain about it all. I'm unsurprised, like I've always said; she's never been one to take an initiative. When something happens, she reacts.

Unlike me, and I really want to initiate this.

"I love you" I say, and her eyes widen, her mouth opens in shock, and that's all the invitation I need, closing my eyes and lowering my mouth to hers. She tastes like the strawberries we ate this morning, and it's a very gentle, innocent kiss.

If I could have it my way, it wouldn't be innocent at all and I could take the last minutes we have together and lay her on the couch and explore her body.

But we don't have the time, and I know she's not ready for that. Hell, she might not even be ready for the kiss I lay on her. She kisses me back, but only after I prompt her. When I pull back I can tell she's confused- really confused. By the time it looks like she knows what she's going to say, it's too late, and the Peacekeepers are pulling her out of the door.

"Gale!" She calls out, "Gale I'll-"

 

But I will never know what she was going to say, because the door slams shut and all I can hear is silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the beginning is from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet- I thought it was fitting.
> 
> I like Madge a lot, but I really couldn't have her giving Gale the Mockingjay. He's not Katniss. He acts different and he 'plays' different. Thats why I had D12 react different to him as well.
> 
> Rory, Vick and Posy are difficult to write as individuals. I don't know many children, and though I vaguely remember being 12, I can't remember 10 and 4 much at all. 
> 
> I decided that considering the type of life that is described in 12, Gale didn't have the luxury Katniss had of forbidding his siblings from taking out tessera. A family of 5, especially a family with three growing boys needs way more food than 3 women who have the added income of the goat and Mrs. Everdeen's medical knowledge. And I don't want Gale and Rory and Vick to be sexist, thinking Posy shouldn't take out tessera only because she's a girl. But. I'm an elder sister too, we're protective of the babies in the family.
> 
> As for Hazelle Hawthorne being Gale's hunting teacher... I don't know. I think It'd be great if that where actually   
> true, and The Hunger Games needs more strong, understated adults.


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

3-. we are just holding on to nothing, to see how long nothing lasts

* * *

We get on the train, a sleek, modern and incredibly Capitol vehicle, and I hate it from the moment I step inside. Effie Trinket briefly points out where to find the dinning cart, the lounging cart, her room and Haymitch's, before taking Mera and me to our own rooms. The train goes at 250 miles an hour, and we will be arriving at the Capitol in less than 24 hours. Which means we are spending the night.

 The rooms Effie gives me are lavish and include the bedroom, sitting room, dressing room and a private bathroom. She tells me to change out of my dirty clothes and wait around until dinnertime. Except my clothes aren't dirty and I don't feel like accommodating her at all. Instead I go out to the dinning cart and watch the Capitol servants lay out the food and set the table.

 I watch them half heartedly, letting my mind wander, thinking mostly about Katniss. What was she going to say? I'll wait for you? I'll take care of your family? It's impossible to imagine really. Then my mind wanders on to other things, like the days that lay ahead, the parades, the interviews, the training...

 I get a small panic attack thinking about the actual arena, being in the Hunger Games and running and hiding from career tributes. Trying to survive, and failing.

Eventually its time for dinner and Effie Trinket and Mera join me.

For the first time I actually look at my fellow tribute.

Mera is a skinny, slouching, short girl with dark hair that reaches her shoulders and black eyes. She's not particularly pretty, and looking at her closely, I judge her age to be closer to 15 than the previous 13 I'd guessed. She's changed out of her reaping clothes, and is now wearing an orange dress, tied so tight around her waist that I imagine that she gets much less food than my siblings and I eat. She never meets my eyes, and though she's stopped crying, her face remains sad and accepting of her fate. I conclude that she's not a threat. I'd rather not kill her, because she's 12, but I've no doubt that I can. The thought leaves me feeling a little bitter, so I decide to ignore both her and Effie Trinket, and instead eat my food.

The food is indescribably good. The best I've ever eaten. Carrot soup, salad, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit and even chocolate cake. I eat as much as I can, but try to do it slowly, so that I don't get sick.

Once, Katniss and I caught a wild buck, and there was so much of it that we sold most of it for pretty good money at the Hob, and still had enough to each take a leg home. Mother cooked it together with rice and plants from the forest, and we all ate so much that we got sick and couldn't move around the rest of the day. Thinking about home does make me pause in my eating, and although the food in the cart is all delicious, more than feeling grateful for being able to experience it, I feel resentment. There's enough food on this table to feed at least 6 families comfortably, and it's wasted here, lying around for 3. I catch Effie Trinket looking at me with thinly veiled disgust; her expression clearly says that she thinks we eat like animals.

Good.

Impressing this woman is really not something I can bring myself to care about.

Despite my conscious thoughts to eat slowly, its still too much food, too fast, and after finishing, I can't move. Mera has it worse, going to the bathroom and retching out half her food as soon as the plates are cleared. Effie Trinket mutters under her breath, but she's still loud enough that I hear her complain about always getting horribly mannered tributes, and I clench my fists and try not to snap at her.

I've never liked Effie Trinket. She’s the yearly reminder that my life, and everyone's life is controlled by some far away city and government. When Mera returns, the capitol woman leads us to another room to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. There's a long couch in the middle of the room, but no one takes it, Mera and I already trying to keep distance between each other, me because I really don't want to know anything about her in case I have the unpleasant task of killing her later on this week, and her, by the looks of it, because she's afraid of me. We each take a seat on the individual chairs to either side of the big couch, while Effie Trinket remains standing by the door, as far away from us as she can possibly be.

It's not like we smell or anything. Stupid Capitol woman.

The recap is done in order, starting with District 1 and ending with ours, 12. I begin scrutinizing the other tributes as soon as they step onto the stage. District 1's tributes both look well fed, the boy is tall, a little shorter than me probably, and around 16. He looks confident. The girl swaggers onto the stage, all smiles and anticipation. Individually, I guess I could take either of them in a physical fight, but if they form an alliance, as careers so often do, I'm not so certain. District 2 worries me more. The girl is small, but she walks with a trained grace, each step deliberate, strong. She's got cruel eyes, and I can tell from the very second that she steps onto the platform that this girl is in it to win.

But it's the boy, if I can even call him that- that really worries me. A volunteer, monstrously big, almost double my size in muscle, probably my same height and he's been trained all his life for this one moment. If I have to fight that one…

No, better to hide up in a tree and spear him with arrows, or poison him, or let another tribute kill him first.

If I'm lucky.

District 4, usually a career district, looks weak this year, the girl is fit enough but not more so than expected, the boy a child who is not even close to ready. Mostly I watch the tributes with a detached, analytical mind. Try to gauge any weakness, imagine them not as children, or even as people, but just animals.

I'm older and bigger than most of the tributes, and I imagine I've had more fights back in the Hob, in school and even in the Slag Heap than most of them, so one on one, I'll be able to take almost everyone. Well, not the boy from 2, and not even the boy from 11, but most of them.

I'm also pretty sure I'm better at getting food than maybe everyone but the district 7 and 11 kids, and when it comes to weapons... I'm not as good as Katniss with a bow, but from a high vantage point, it looks like not many of these children are fast enough to dodge an arrow from point blank range, and if I get enough supplies, I can trap a lot of other ones in bear snares or nets.

District 12 is finally called. Mera's reaping is completely forgettable; her head bowed and tears streaming down her face.

But not mine.

When Rory's name is called I see what the Capitol must have seen. I run through the crowd, boys falling away from me like leaves, as I pick up Rory. I see the peacekeepers get close, I hear my voice ring out, volunteering myself instead of my kid brother. I see Katniss, in her beautiful blue dress take Rory and then I walk to the stage. My eyes follow her, but soon the camera's change and focus only on me. I see the crowd cheering, then Haymitch falling off the stage in a drunken stupor.

The broadcast finishes with Claudius Templesmith and Ceasar Flickerman enthusiastically remind everybody to have a 'Happy Hunger Games', and then the screen turns black. All three of us are silent, staring at the blank wall. Out of the corner of my eye I see that for once, Effie Trinket is really looking at me, contemplatively and even excitedly. I understand why, she was too preoccupied during the actual reaping to pay attention to me, but that footage… it's promising.

I look like a good tribute, a strong, capable tribute. It helps that I'm good looking, that standing besides Effie and Mera I look older than 18. Maybe... Maybe I will actually get some sponsors, maybe I actually can...

Before I even finish that dangerous thought, District 12's only living victor comes staggering into the room, supporting himself with the wall and stops when he gets besides Effie Trinket, leaning heavily into her and making her stumble a little. She squeals and stiffens up, her small hands clenching and trembling in fury as she stares at the drunk on her.

Haymitch takes a while to notice that he's not moving anymore, and his eyes wander around the room, he stares at Mera, then at me, and when his eyes slide over to me, for a fraction of a second I see more than the famous district drunk in his grey eyes, then they glaze over and he looks at Effie. Her trembling is noticeable now, absolutely furious. Today has not treated her well, and it looks like she's reached her breaking point.

"Haymitch Abernathy! I've told you, I've told you not to touch me! It's inappropriate, and terrible manners! What will people think when they see today's reaping? You where completely uncontrolled, wild… don't forget that we are representatives, people look up to us-"

"Oh shut up, princess", he replies, awkwardly pushing away from her and slouching into the couch.

"Nobody cares about District 12, or your ridiculous wig." He says, his face in a mocking expression, his tone slurred, but snide.

Effie doesn't take it well, squeaking angrily, tersely wishing Mera and I a good night, then stomping out of the room. As soon as she leaves, a look of satisfaction crosses over Haymitch's face, and drunk as he is, I realize that making Effie leave the room was completely deliberate.

As I watch him, Haymitch takes out a flask and uncoiling the tap, takes a drink. A little of the liquor spills out and I notice that its a staining blue color. Haymitch curses, wiping his hand against his shirt, trying, unsuccessfully, to make the stain disappear.

"What's that?" Mera half says, half whispers, looking straight at his flask. Haymitch takes a while trying to clean the stain and only making it worse before giving up and responding.

"It's the liquor they have on this damn train. Capitol made. Sweet and colorful and fake. Takes a lot to get you drunk." He smiles teasingly and holds out the bottle to her.

Apparently, he's already had a lot.

"Want some, sweetheart?"

Mera shies away from his outstretched arm, and Haymitch just laughs at her, then he turns his head to me.

"What about you, pretty boy? Want a last drink before you die?"

His tone angers me, and my first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to piss off. But I've always had to quell that first instinct to lash out, instead staying quiet and mild in front of authority. Disregarding the way he said it, I suddenly become conscious of the fact that really, if there's one reason or one day to turn to alcohol, the day I willingly sacrifice myself for a society I hate instead of my brother, is definitely it.

"Sure" I say out loud, and Haymitch closes the tap on the flask and tosses it at me. I untwist it and take a long gulp before I get any second thoughts about this. Thinking about my words before I say them does not stop me from being impulsive, or rash.

It's not the first time I've had an alcoholic drink, nor the second, but the capitol liquid is incredibly different from the distilled white liquor they sell at the Hob that I'm more familiar with.

When I was younger, before Dad died, I used to go to Thom Hornwood's house and drink liquor he or Edric Wood stole and get drunk with them.

Then Dad died, and Ed was chosen for the 68th Hunger Games, and Thom's mother was killed in a peacekeeper riot, and I started drinking more to numb the bad days than to celebrate or relax.

It's not like I did it often anyways, considering that we were always short for money and white liquor cost about a pound of skinned meat I could use to buy something more useful.

I take a big gulp, and make a nasty face as the liquor goes down my throat, instead of the bitter taste I expected, a sickly sweet taste touches my tongue. Haymitch laughs, and out of spite, I drain the bottle of its contents and toss it back.

"Got any more?" I ask dispassionately, and in response he stands up and says,

"No, but there's an entire liquor cart, down that way, and since you finished my flask, I'm heading there anyways."

I stand up as well and move my head in the direction of the door.

"Let's go, then"

Haymitch stumbles out of the cart and I follow after. Out of the corner of my eyes I see Mera draw her legs towards her and hug them, put her head on her knees and hide.

I ignore her.

There's as much drink in the bar as there was food in the dinning cart, and in as many colors as exist. Haymitch obviously knows what he's doing, going straight for a section of bubbling liquor, takes a bottle and stretches out on a couch, sighing happily and drinking straight from the bottle. I ignore him for a while, browsing the immense selection of bottles. I take some off the shelves, uncork them, smell some, drink some. Some I like, some I hate.

There's one that almost as thick as the soup we ate a few hours ago that tastes like liquid coal, one a shinny gold color that tastes like lemon and alcohol. A glowing green one that I love, a black liquid that doesn't reflect light and tastes as foul as it looks. Most of the bottles I just take one, but after a while I start feeling dizzy, and I hear, as if thorough another room Haymitch speaking.

"Slow down mr. troubled youth, mixing drinks is a sure way to get a premium hangover tomorrow morning."

I think eating earlier and filling my stomach dulls the effects of the alcohol a little, but still ultimately I feel my tongue go numb and my vision focusing and unfocusing. Usually this would worry me very much, I'm a hunter, and all my senses seem to be slow in responding right now, but alcohol also makes my mind more relaxed and less paranoid. Feeling sufficiently drunk, I decide to grab a smoking white bottle and sit besides Haymitch on the couch and finish off the bottle.

Haymitch seems to have stopped drinking for now, and is staring at me with an expressionless gaze that if I were sober I could maybe understand. As it is though, I don't really care about whatever he's thinking and instead swallow a mouthful of my bottle and say something I've been wondering since I first saw him stumble into our cart earlier tonight.

"How'd you do it?" I ask him, "win your games."

Haymitch is a short, paunchy man, with big hands but short arms, and with no apparent skills apart from his diamond hard liver. He inhales deeply, and looks away from me, frowning bitterly.

"Even if I told you and you remembered tomorrow, which after seeing you try almost every drink in this bar I seriously doubt, it wouldn't help you" he grumbles

"Why not?" I say, a little indignantly.

Haymitch looks at me sadly.

"For one, the game-makers made sure that what I did can never be done again. And for another, it's not worth it, upsetting the Capitol."

I laugh.

It's probably the alcohol, but I think it's so funny.

All my life, I've hated the government, hated the president and the system. And I never got to do anything more than defy some stupid law about not going into the woods to hunt.

Upsetting the Capitol? When my dad died, I used to fantasize about organizing all the fatherless children, training them and becoming an army, ready to rebel and fight against the government. I dreamed about setting bombs in the mines at night when no one was there and blowing them up, therefore stopping the coal production and screwing with the system.

But I'd never done anything, and now I was going to die for them. I wonder, drunkenly, if dying hurts. I wonder if at the very least I'll get to flip of the Capitol's stupid camera's before I die.

"You don't know me, Haymitch, and I might very well want to piss off the Capitol" I say instead. Or try to say, at least. Some of my words come out slightly slurred-

He sits up, runs his hand over his face, and I see that he looks very tired, and older than he actually is.

"I do know you kid, and now the whole of Panem is going to know you, too." He begins,

"You're the responsible older brother that will do anything to save his family. I saw that, and I was so drunk I couldn't even sit on my chair straight. That means President Snow saw that, and if you step out of line, you can make damn sure that that kid you think you saved is going to suffer for it."

His words sober me up pretty quick. I sit up straight, but too quickly, and the whole world moves around me. Groaning I hold my head, feel nauseous. Haymitch laughs at me, breaking the tense atmosphere a little, but my anger, always lurking beneath the surface and dulled by the alcohol seeps out a little and I glare at him.

"Then I'll fuck them by staying alive. No one does that. No one from 12 wins. No one but you."

Haymitch looks sad, shakes his head and slowly brings the bottle he hasn't really been drinking from up to his lips.

"Its not really winning you know," he says, "and seeing you now... I'm not sure if you'll want to get out alive. Not you"

I growl at him.

"I do want to live, and you are supposed to be my mentor, supposed to help me and advise me." I say, staring straight at him with unblinking, alcohol clouded eyes.

Haymitch looks as serious as I do, and stares straight back. He's got Seam eyes, which I like. I probably wouldn't trust a merchant Victor, but however he did it, Haymitch won his games, and he stayed Seam.

"Say you'll help me now or never bother me again, and I'll do this my way." I say, holding his gaze.

His smile is slow and mean, and I wonder if asking for help was a good idea. Usually I never ask for help, so it's probably the alcohol talking. Still, numbing my pride is not the worse thing that could happen.

"I'll help you, prettyboy. Lets see how far that gets both of us."

My vision is getting blurrier than before, and scowling I take a last sip of the bottle in my hand. It's too little too much, because even though I think I say "my name's Gale", I forget whatever happens next. Maybe I fall unconscious, maybe I'm just too drunk to remember.

I wonder if it's just my imagination or if Haymitch actually says,

"Here's my advice then, Gale, stay alive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from a Beck song, Paper Tiger.
> 
> Drunk!Gale won't happen again, at least not in this story, but it seemed like a good way for Haymitch and him to bond. Unfortunately, getting that scene to work was horrible, and I have like 3 different versions of that last conversation written besides the published version here. I'll maybe use them for something else.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

4-. here we are now. Entertain us

* * *

There's one commercial that passes on the television back home for Capitol liquor. Very generic- terrible and over the top, promoting drinking and partying in the Capitol because the colorful drinks they offer are all "hangover free!". It says the same thing over and over in the terrible capitol accent, and since getting any Capitol liquor in 12 is pretty much impossible, the thing annoys the hell out of me.

When I wake up, my head is pounding and my stomach is reproaching me for not having puked before passing out. It seems that commercial was simply another instance of false advertising. Just another capitol lie.

I stay in bed, unmoving, wondering what it was that woke me up when I hear Effie Trinket's voice.

"Up, up up! It's going to be a big, big day!"

She knocks on my door, then moves on to what I imagine is Mera's. I contemplate ignoring her, going back to sleep or simply staying in the bed. But lying down has never cured me of a hangover before, and going back to sleep with Effie's shrill voice going on and on as it is seems unlikely.

Groaning, I get up and head towards the bathroom. I strip out of yesterday's clothes, which unfortunately still smell of sugary Capitol alcohol- and head straight into the shower. I expect the freezing cold water of District 12's waterworks, but instead get warm, aromatic water. It's pleasant, and helps with the headache marginally. I've never had a long bath before, so I indulge in that now, letting the water run down my body, my eyes closed.

I think about my shower back in 12. I had been meaning to get it fixed, I imagine Mother will have to worry about it know. Maybe a sympathetic neighbor will help her, free of charge. Maybe Vick or Rory, but if its going to be one of them probably Vick, he'll get out the toolbox and tinker with the showerhead until its either better or irreplaceably worse.

I step out of the shower, dress in clean capitol clothes, and go have breakfast.

Everyone is already at the table eating, or in Haymitch's case, drinking. When he sees me, he lets out a snort of mirth and offers me his flask. The very thought of it makes me nauseous, and I shake my head. Seeing all the food doesn't make me feel much better either, but I grab some bread anyways and stick it in my mouth, knowing it's good for me.

I ignore everyone else at the table, instead concentrating on the bread, chewing slowly. Even Capitol bread tastes different. Too much butter, too soft. At some point I realize that Haymitch has changed topics from annoying Effie Trinket to talking about the games and his mentoring responsibilities. As I turn my head to watch him closer, he pours some alcoholic thing into his coffee.

"Right, so, the Hunger Games. First week is all about parades and training and preparations… about making an impression on the people who have money so that they give that money to you. Here's the thing both of you need to know. Effie and I have been doing this for a long time, and the only way for it to actually work is if you two shut up and do exactly what we say you have to do, when we say it."

I can't help a snort of derision. Haymitch gives me a halfheartedly annoyed glare, and since I feel like crap and am hungover because he offered me a drink last night in the first place, I figure I might as well speak my mind for once.

"Right, because that's why you've brought home so many victors to 12 before. Because they shut up and listened to your advise."

Effie lets out an outraged noise, and starts to say something, but I stare straight at my 'mentor' and don't look away. Haymitch glares back at me, unblinking, brings his spiked mug of coffee to his lips and takes a sip. He smiles mockingly at me.

"Well, boy, you look like a million dollars this morning, so why don't we try out this mentor-tribute thing right now, and, if you feel better, you shut up and do as I say."

Without waiting for my answer, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a small metal case, pops it open and tosses me a medium sized transparent pill. I stare at it suspiciously, and hear Effie gasp.

"Oh my!" she says, "That's one of the expensive brands isn't it?" I ignore her and swallow the pill, washing it down with some orange juice, which incidentally, I've never had before.

It takes effect almost immediately.

My whole body seems to clench, and I spasm uncontrollably. My headache, dull but constant since I woke up multiplies in intensity and I shut my eyes so tight I see lights. I'm unsure of how long it takes, but I can hear Haymitch roaring in laughter distantly.

When its over, and I control my body again, the first thing I do is lunge at him. But the pills aftereffects have left me shaken, and I fail to grab him. Instead I spill half the drinks and the plates on the table. Effie makes a horrified noise and reprimands me.

"Manners!" she says harshly, and Mera, up till now silent and nibbling on some toast of her own squeaks and jumps a little in her chair. Haymitch hasn't even moved, just takes another drink from him mug, still snickering slightly.

"Feel better?" He asks me, and I realize that I actually do.

The headache is gone and my stomach has settled down. I feel more alert, if still a bit shaky, and suddenly very hungry... and no longer hungover.

I sit back down.

Haymitch nods and keeps talking, while I grab a plate full of eggs, bacon, some flour made thing Effie says are pancakes and the orange juice jar.

"Good. Now, both of you, eat a good breakfast, we're almost at the Capitol. When we get there, you get taken to the remake center and then to your stylist. Don't fight them, it's only worse that way. Later on is the inauguration parade, and after that you get to go to the Tributes building. Joy. Effie and I will see you there."

I hear Mera speak up for the first time.

"Does the prepping hurt?"

Haymitch shruggs.

"To be honest, sweetheart, I don't really remember."

He smiles at her, and we hear the intercom turn on.

Welcome, to the Capitol. We shall be arriving in 10 minutes.

Looking at the Capitol for the first time…. as much as I hate it, there really is no way to not be amazed by it. The city is so much more than what you see on the cameras. The buildings all shine with unnatural brightness, colors that seem impossible on every corner. Everything is almost alien in its perfection. Everything shines and looks new.

The people are all artificial as well, with bizarre, unnatural colors on their hair, clothes, skin… The Capitol.

I shy away from the window as soon as people begin gathering around the train, eagerly pointing and screaming. It looks like the enthusiasm really is as zealous as it appears back home. They sicken me, these twisted fake people, all bloodthirsty and waiting for us to die. Mera shies away as well, and we hide behind the walls and away from the windows until we pull into the train station.

As it turns out, prepping really is painful. The team that is in charge of me consists of a pair of twins with blue skin and eyes. The only difference between them is one has black hair, and the other white. The third is an older looking woman, with yellow cat eyes, and pointed ears and claws. Her hair is red, as is her clothing. I try to ignore them for the most part, and clench my teeth to not cry out while they rip off all the hair on my body, scrub my skin raw and get rid of any scars or blemishes on my skin. I'm not too attached to any, so it doesn't bother me. I don't fight, just as Haymitch asked, until one of them, the dark haired twin comes towards me with scissors and tries to take Posy's necklace. I grab her wrist and glare at her.

"That's my token. Don't touch it."

She mumbles a little, flustered in her capitol accent, and then tries to do it again, so I tighten my grip on her. She looks straight at me, surprised. Probably never had a tribute be difficult before. I stare into her dark eyes and say slowly, so that even as stupid as she appears to be she understands,

"No."

Behind her, I see the cat-eyed one discreetly grab a syringe from their tool desk. 

Screw Haymitch then. I'm not going to sit idly by and behave while these Capitol freaks take away the last thing I have from my district- from my family.

I snap, get angry.

It's not difficult to wrestle the scissors out of the dark twins hand, then yank her towards me. And it's easy to hold her still with only one arm and point the scissors at her neck. She lets out a tiny scream in fright, and the cat-eyed woman freezes. The other twin takes a step forwards towards me, but I shake the girl in my arms and she stops moving as well.

I notice that the twin in my arms is crying, but to be honest, I don't care.

It's the cat-eyed one I direct my attention to. She's obviously the oldest and most experienced. She's frowning, looking at me calculatingly.

"We'll give you back your token" She says to me, and I just glare harder at her.

"No," I repeat, "No one touches it. Who do I have to talk to to make sure of that."

The cat-eyed woman takes a slow, non-threatening step backwards and lays the syringe back onto the tool desk. It looks like she's about to say something I won't like, when the white haired twin speaks up.

"Portia, our boss", she says, her voice trembling, and her eyes locked onto her sister. "Portia's your stylist"

I glance at the cat-eyed one and see that she's making an ugly expression. She smoothes it out pretty quick and looks at me, and in an annoyingly calm voice says, "I'll go get her right now, we where almost finished making you look acceptable anyways. No need to do anything rash."

I don't trust this one, so I narrow my eyes and sneer at her. What does she think, I'm an idiot? I'm not.

"No", I say again, then nod my head sharply towards the other twin.

"You, go get your boss then, or whomever, but if you bring in peacekeepers like cat-eyes over there wants to, I kill your sister and damn the consequences. Understand?"

She nodes rapidly, her eyes wide and afraid, staring at her sister but doesn't move.

"Go!" I say harshly, and she turns and runs out the door.

I feel oddly calm about the whole situation, shift the dark twin in my arms and turn my eyes back to the cat-eyed woman. She sighs, apparently defeated for now, and leans on the wall. She's not happy, I can tell, but it doesn't seem like she's going to do anything about it right now either.

The girl I'm holding captive trembles, but stays silent as well.

Her sister apparently doesn't waste any time, and comes back maybe two minutes later with a tall black woman in a yellow wig, and no peacekeepers. She was unwilling to risk her sisters life, looks like.

Still, I don't let go of my captive just yet.

This new woman, who I assume to be Portia, looks around slowly, taking everything in. Then she looks at me and starts to speak.

"Gale, my name is Portia, I'm your stylist. I promise not to touch your bracelet, and not to call in the peacekeepers. Please let Nori go."

I look at her suspiciously, unsure if I should listen or not. For the most part, I believe in people's word, but then again, that was back in 12, and this is theCapitol.

Portia holds out her hands in a non threatening way.

"Please Gale, the longer we stay in this impasse, the less time I have to prepare you for the parade, and if you don't appear for that, the peacekeepers will have no choice but to come. None of us want that. And I'm sure poor Nori is terrified"

I think about that for a second, the impasse thing, not the Nori is terrified thing. Portia's right, and I really have nothing else to gain from this situation, and the anger that got me here is mostly gone, bottled back up inside me. I lower the scissors I've had pointed at the girl-Nori's neck and let her go. She gasps in relief and runs over to her sister, both hugging and whispering at each other.

I stand up, but keep the scissors handy just in case. Portia turns away from me for a while, and smiles at the two girls, Nori and her twin, then says something to them in a low tone of voice and they leave. She nodes at the cat-eyed woman, who is still frowning, but composes her face to a look of neutral boredom and stands straight and makes as if to leave as well.

"Ira," calls out Portia, and the other woman stops and looks at her boss, Portia gazes at her severely, "I meant what I said, don't call in the peacekeepers."

Ira sneers angrily at me, then leaves as well.

Portia and I are left alone in the room. For the first time I realize I am standing completely naked in front of a stranger, and Portia, despite the wig, looks like a normal human, and speaks in a less accented tone than most Capitol people. I wonder if I should feel self-conscious, but after what just happened, don't.

Portia walks over and circles around me, humming lightly as she stares at me from head to toe.

I keep the scissors in a light grip in my hand, but she doesn't seem to mind, and never touches me.

I stare at her as she turns her head this way and that, looking. Portia is my size, wearing her Capitol heels, and oddly elegant. At last she reaches for my robe, and stands in from to me. She smiles thinly as she gives it to me, an odd smile- her mouth turns upwards but her eyes don't slant at all, and instead remain serious.

"Well, you'll certainly make an impression" She says lightly, then turns and heads towards the other door in the room, the one the prep team didn't take.

"Follow me" she says, and goes in. There are two couches there, facing each other and with a table in the middle with food already on it. Portia takes a seat on the couch with its back to the gigantic window which shows off the Capitol. She sees it daily; I imagine she thinks I'll want to see the shinny towers much more. How gracious of her.

I sit down and grab a plate filled with turkey and potatoes, salads and gravy. I hate the Capitol, but the food is very, very good. Portia grabs a plate as well, and we eat in silence. After a second helping, which Portia watches me eat, she presses a button on the table and the plates disappear. Then she begins to speak.

"As I mentioned previously, I'm your stylist. This is my first year in the Hunger Games, and both me and my partner, Cinna, are very exited about 12 this year. We've become very tired with the opening ceremony costumes you usually get. Coal miners, headlamps, coaldust- Its overdone, and we don't like it."

I shrug, knowing that my input in this conversation is not really necessary. To be honest, as long as I'm not naked, I could care less what ridiculous outfit they dress me up in. Portia continues speaking.

"Anyways, our idea for this year is rather strange, I'll admit, and if you don't want to we do have a backup just in case."

"Don't want to what?" I ask her, and she smiles her odd half-smile at me again.

"If you don't want to be dressed in fire," She says

I sit up straight. What?

Later, when I'm standing with Portia and the prep team in the remake center's stables, I can't help but feel slightly exited and apprehensive at the same time. I like fire, always have, and if I don't burn to death, this will be amazing. I'm wearing a black unitard and a cape made out of the flammable material Portia has told me about, as well as a crown of the same stuff. Mera, who is besides me, is quite obviously terrified of the prospect of being lit on fire. Cinna, her stylist, another surprisingly human looking Capitol person tries to calm her with soothing words. Unfortunately, her prep team, somehow even more annoying than mine- who have come back to assist Portia but are still slightly hesitant around me, are trying to tell her of Cinna's greatness and how if she does go out in fire, at least it will look amazing.

We get directed into the last of the horse pulled carriages, being 12, and I try to ignore the mini-drama unfolding around me, and instead look over at the other tributes. Most of them look nervous about the parade, and some look even more ridiculous than district 12's usual garb.

But its the tributes from 2 that really stand out to me. They are dressed in gold armor and white clothes, their makeup done in dark colors that outline their faces and sharpen them. They are both speaking to each other easily and familiarly, unlike most pairs who ignore each other. A cold pit in my stomach makes itself known.

They'll probably ally together, and it's immediately obvious to anyone with half a brain that both of them are dangerous and prepared for what is coming next.

Suddenly, the girl from 2 looks up, stares straight at me. I look away discreetly, looking around at the other tributes, but I can feel her eyes on me. Turning back to Mera and the designers, I discover she's finally agreed to keep on the cape, but she's taking off the crown. Her hair is still elaborately done, with red, orange and yellow clips, but it would look better with the crown on.

I look around for Haymitch, but my mentor is nowhere to be found.

The ceremony begins.

The doors to the stable are thrown open and Panem's anthem starts to play. The horses are perfectly trained, and start to roll out in order of District. The carriage pulling the District 1 tributes rolls out first, followed by District 2. The crowds outside roar in approval. The carriages keep rolling out, and when 11 starts towards the doors, Cinna appears with a lit torch. He smiles encouragingly at Mera, and tells her "You'll do great", then lowers the torch and we're off.

As soon as the crowds see us, they go wild. I glance down at Mera and see that the crowds cheering is helping with her nerves, and she smiles and laughs and waves at them. I realise that despite her plain looks, happy and in understated makeup she looks very pretty. And the flames, though she refused to wear them on her head, illuminate us and magnify us. I catch a glimpse of myself on once of the screens.

I look… both very recognizable and very unlike myself. Too clean, too made up. I hear Mera let out a small surprised "oh!" as she looks up as well, and looses her footing.

Out of instinct I grab her and steady her against me. She looks up at me in shock, and stutters out a "Thanks" before righting herself up and grabbing onto the handrails.

The crowds keep cheering around us, and maybe its the shock of being out here, or its hearing my name, "Gale! Gale" called out ecstatically by Capitol citizens that puts me in a terrible mood. Instead of waving like Mera and some of the other tributes, instead of smiling, I cross my arms and look straight ahead.

Not that ignoring them stops the cheering at all. I hear "Gale!" called out many times, and "District 12!" as well, and then, finally, we arrive at the plaza, all arranged in a semi-circle in front of President Snow's balcony.

He comes out, and the music finally stops.

His speech is short and repetitive, everyone has heard it a thousand times, but still the citizens cheer.

He ends it with the famous catchphrase, "Happy Hunger Games".

And it might be my imagination, but as he says it I think he stares straight at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Nirvana's Smell's Like Teen Spirit.  
> I think of this chapter as the filler chapter. Has to be done, has a few important thing's in it but it's mostly filler.


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

5-. How embarrassing to be human

* * *

When we get to the Tributes Building, Haymitch and Effie are waiting for us. Both of them are full of praise for the stylists, who have decided to come along with us to the building, though thankfully the prep teams seem to have left for the night. We ride up in an elevator, transparent and smooth- to the 12th floor of the building. Probably the only time being from 12 is better than being from any other district, as we get the penthouse suite.

The view is, unsurprisingly, incredible.

We get shown around the apartment- and it is enormous. Like in the train, both Mera and I get individual rooms with bathrooms and personalized closets already equipped with clothing in our size. After exploring all the trinkets in the room (there's a control that if you press a button the window's view turns into something other than the Capitol, so I leave it on the forest setting indefinitely) and taking another bath to rub off all the makeup and glitter I was showered with during the parade. I don't manage to get it all out, particularly the eye makeup seems to be very resistant, but I feel clean enough.

I change into something more comfortable than the costume I've been wearing and get out of my room.

Much to my surprise, I find Cinna, Mera's stylist, waiting outside my door.

He smiles easily at me and extends his hand to me. Dubiously, I take it.

"Hello, my name is Cinna," he says, as if I hadn't already been told, or hadn't heard Mera call him that before the parades.

"We'll be seeing each other a lot this week I think. Portia and I like to work together you see, so I wanted to come introduce myself to you." He says.

I'm not exactly sure what it is he expects me to say, so when I open my mouth its just, "Thats… nice", that I come up with.

Cinna blinks at me, then laughs.

I find that I do not immediately hate him, like I do with every other Capitol citizen.

"Would you like to see the roof Gale? You'll have plenty of time to explore down here, and if you ever need some time or space alone, the roof is an excellent place to go."

I shrug, deciding that its not a bad idea, and so we take the elevator again and step out onto the roof, only open sky above us and people on the ground so small and far away they become as small as ants.

"Come on," says Cinna, and he leads me away from the door and into a garden, filled with wind chimes and plants.

"I like this place because between the wind and the chimes your voice can get lost" says Cinna softly, as he runs his fingers over a bed of pretty orange flowers.

It is a nice place I guess, and the truth is that despite everything looking and feeling so different, despite the fact that I can't seem to relax for a single moment ever since I got onto that train, being up here makes it easier to breathe.

It doesn't feel so watched as everywhere else I go, (though I am not naïve enough to think that it's not watched at all) or maybe because up here, it's as if Cinna and I are the only two people in the world.

We wander around the garden, and eventually I step up to the edge of the building, wanting to look down out of curiosity. It is a very far way to fall.

Cinna comes up besides me and holds up his hand. There's a small zap, and he pulls it back quickly. Surprised, I snap my head towards him. He smiles sheepishly, and tells me about the force field that protects the edge so that no one can fall off accidentally.

Or jump off either, I think.

"Lets head back inside," he says, "It must be almost time for dinner."

I agree, because as nice as it is to be up here, the truth is I'm very hungry, so we head back down.

Dinner starts off normally.

Haymitch and Effie sit across from each other, and Mera and I do the same. The Stylists seem particularly good at directing conversations, talking with Effie and Haymitch on neutral topics that don't make one or the other start insulting the other or getting too crazy.

The food is good, and I stack my plate up and eat as much as I can, as I've been doing since I volunteered. I've never had enough food for two or even three helpings before, so it's a novel experience to feel so full it's difficult to move, and I feel almost relaxed for once.

Things change the second the giant cake comes in.

I recognize her immediately. She's pale and pretty and red-haired and ignores us the way servants do, her only concern finishing her job and getting out of the way.

I stare at her in shock, and when she comes up besides me to light up the cake, I don't hear the surprised and happy ohhs and aahhs that come around the table when she lights it up. I act almost instinctually, grabbing her forearm as she's pulling it back, surprised at being touched, she looks down at me, and freezes.

We stare at each other in shock until I hear Haymitch's voice.

"Gale, let her go" still in a bit of a haze I listen to him, loosen my grip on her arm and turn my head towards him. The girl flees from the room. I realize all of the adults are looking at me sharply. Distantly, I also notice that Haymitch has called me by my name. Not 'prettyboy', not 'handsome' or any other derogatory term he's been using to refer to me since we've met.

Effie is the one who speaks up first.

"Why did you grab that Avox? You're not supposed to do anything but give them orders you know!"

A tinny bit of annoyance creeps into my voice when I turn to her.

"No actually, I didn't know. Unlike most of you, this is my first time in the Capitol." Effie humps angrily, and it seems she's starting to dislike me, just as I don't like her. I turn towards Haymitch again, who is staring at me with unusually clear, sharp eyes.

"What is an Avox anyways" I ask him, trying to fake casualness.

Obviously I've just done something wrong, but until I figure out what, exactly, it seems to be a good idea to stay cool.

Haymitch takes my lead and pretends to relax, going for a piece of cake before responding. His eyes remain tight and focused though, so I know he's just pretending.

"An Avox is a traitor. Someone who did something terrible and in return got their tongue ripped out and given a job as a servant here in the Capitol."

Oh.

I can see how the read haired girl won herself the title of traitor.

"As Effie said, you are not supposed to talk to them or interact with them other than to give orders" says Portia in her slow, even voice. I shrug, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Sorry, I didn't know" I say, then grab a piece of cake and stuff it in my mouth.

"Maybe you should have a printed rule book on the train for us to read." I say without looking at anyone, and then, because really, sometimes I can't help but say the things I think, I look back up at Effie, glaring.

"Oh wait. You must think that most tributes from 12 don't know how to read anyways. We are so uncivilized and barbaric. That's it, isn't it?"

She's glaring at me, her small, painted lips pressed hard together and her perfectly manicured hands clenched into fists. Haymitch lets out a snort of laughter, and when I look back at him he's returned to his normal antics, drinking wine like it's water and eyes apparently unconcerned.

I wonder if he's faking.

"You shouldn't make jokes, Sparkles, you're terrible at them."

I blink at him in absolute surprise.

"Sparkles?"

Cinna and Portia laugh, as Haymitch drunkenly says that with all that fire we were dressed up like in the parade I looked like a sparkling cinderblock. The atmosphere does lighten, but I remain tight and anxious all through what remains of dinner and the television recap. It doesn't help at all when the television focuses on my face and my reflection stares at me, all dolled up like Haymitch says and glaring back at me sullenly.

Apparently, Haymitch can't keep quiet either, sighing and looking at me exasperatedly.

"You are a ray of sunshine you know? All smiles and happiness".

I see red, but instead of exploding I only clench my hands and excuse myself, saying the day has worn me out and I'm going to go to sleep. I turn around and Haymitch calls out to me one last time.

"Hey sunshine, wait." I half turn my head to glare at him intensely, and Haymitch smirks at me.

"Tommorow at breakfast we'll discuss strategies, so think about that. Now go get your beauty sleep."

I hiss between my teeth and stomp out of the room, but instead of heading off to bed as I said I would, I go up to the roof again. The night is cool, but not yet chilly enough for a jacket, and the view has transformed completely from this morning. Up here, the lights beneath me look like stars, and cars going by are all moving lights. There is a lot of noise, unlike a night in twelve, where everything goes dead after the sun goes down. The windchimes twinkle around me and I just stay there, standing besides the ledge unmoving, letting my mind wander and relax as if this were a stake out, and I were waiting for an animal to fall into a snare I've set up.

Back home, after a fight or a particularly long and tiring day I would go out into the woods and vent. Sometimes Katniss was around, sometimes I was alone, and I'd just scream.

Today I just stand, looking at the moving lights, listening to the soft whistle of the wind, emptying my mind of anger. I'm unsure how much time I spend up there, hours, probably, because when I go back downstairs the lights are off, everyone has returned to their rooms and everything is quiet.

I go to my room in the darkness, used to doing so, even if usually I do so back in 12, in a hovel-like home compared to this place, take off my shirt and fall into the bed, an enormous, soft and cozy piece of furniture, that I would hate for its lavishness if I weren't so tired.

I close my eyes and try to sleep.

But I can't.

I become acutely aware of the absence of Posy and Vick. I have never actually slept in a bed alone at night when fully conscious and sober. Short naps, yes, and nights alone in the woods as well- but my bed has never only been mine. Vick or Rory or Posy have always been there as well.

And this bed is too soft. The covers are too thin. The room too dark, and when I adjust the light- it becomes too bright. I toss and turn for hours, annoyance and exhaustion building and building until I eventually, finally, fall into a fitful sleep. But there is no respite for me even in dreams that night.

At first I dream about the day I saw the Avox girl. It had begun normally enough, Catnip and me out in the woods, contented with our overnight haul and so we were spending the time looking for wild berries or other fruits. The memory is intact. We are talking quietly and laughing about some stupid thing or other, and then we hear the engines of a Capitol hovercraft. Fear impulses us to run for cover, and we find that between some rocks, hidden there, terrified that we've been spotted and that they are coming for us. That's when we see the Capitol couple, running. The girl is pretty and has red hair, and as she runs, her eyes somehow zoom into Katniss and me, and she sees us, clearly, and without a doubt. She is the first one the Capitol goes for, capturing her with a net thrown down from the aircraft and then lifted into the air, the girl struggling inside of it, a fish caught in a fisherman's net.

The bottom of the aircraft opens to let her in, a giant mouth, ready to swallow her. The boy sees his partner captured and stumbles, but gets up and turns around to try and run away. In my dream the girl opens her mouth to scream out a warning, to say anything. But how could she, when she opens her mouth blood starts pouring out, torrents of it, and I can see into her mouth clearly, her tongue has been cut off, and blood flows from its stump.

A spear launches out from inside the hovercrafts interior, and pierces the boy straight through his back and his stomach. The point of it comes out, blood and guts go flying, and then he's screaming, pulled into the machine and away from me.

I hear a sound of horror from besides me and I turn to Catnip, but she is no longer there.

I'm alone, and the forest around me changes, and I'm in the Hunger Games, weaponless. I see the Career tributes armed with swords and axes, bloodthirsty smiles on their faces. I turn to run, to get away, and I realize that I am stuck in quicksand up to my waist. The other tributes come up to me, laughing, malevolent, ready to kill me-

When I wake up in the morning I eel breathless, the sensation of a knife stuck in my traquea still fresh in my mind.

I dress quickly in a maroon colored tunic and a pair of black slacks and boots, then head over to the kitchen where breakfast has already been served, and once again I am the last one to arrive. Mera and Haymitch are already there, speaking quietly and seriously at the head of the table, eating breads and fruits and other pastries. Mera, much to my annoyance, is wearing a similarly colored outfit, though the styling is slightly more feminine. Haymitch appears to have taken a bath, and is looking rather well put together. Effie is nowhere in sight.

Haymitch takes a look at me and waves me over to the table, and Mera seeing me, says hello, then gets up to leave quickly. "Sparkles come here, I want to run something by you." says my mentor.

I twitch at the name, but have by now discovered that whether I want one or not, I'm getting a nickname, and however ridiculous Sparkles is, 'Prettyboy' was worse. I sit opposite Mera's vacated seat and start pilling food onto my plate.

"Right. So, I've decided to… mentor.. the girl and you separately. Today is the first of three days of training you get before the Gamemakers evaluate you and grade you. You've seen it before, nothing special about it. But, before going in and showing the instructors and the other tributes what you can do, I want to have an idea of what you know going into this before hand. So right here, right now. Tell me everything. Tell me anything at all that can help in your survival of the Games. I don't want any fake modesty kid, but I also don't want any exaggeration got it?"

Talking about myself is difficult, but for once Haymitch does not mock me nor insult me.

When I tell him I can hunt, he asks for specific methods. I tell him about the snares and the bow and arrow, and he asks about materials for trapping, the time it takes to set up, my precision and time of release with the bow and arrow, what types of foliage I am most used to, what type of animals I have caught. He asks about any fights I've been in, against older people, younger, what size, how many. When we are done with that he makes me stand up, measures me with his eyes, makes me grab his hand and squeeze as hard as I can to judge my strength, then he makes me demonstrate any fighting moves I have, acting almost as the school's wrestling instructor, parrying my blows with his open hands, correcting my footing and grip whenever I do a strange movement, but never going in for a hit.

Then he tells me to fall to the ground flat, to jump up as high as I can, to go into a roll or grab knife from the table and throw it across the room. It takes us an entire hour, just talking and assessing my strengths and weaknesses.

For all that I am tall, I am not particularly strong, my muscles, the few I have, having formed to move into awkward positions and then hold those for hours. I can move quickly in short bursts, but am not good at long distance running. I can use both hands to hit with almost equal force, but that force is not great, my form is shabby, and I tire out fast.

By the end of the assessment, we've both worked up a thin layer of sweat, and I find that I am once more hungry, and more than that, thirsty, so we sit back at the table, and Avoxes come in with pitchers of water and to replenish any dishes that are running low. The red-haired one does not reappear.

Haymitch tells me to show the game makers my ability with a bow during the private sessions, but to steer clear of the only weapon I have an adequate mastery of in front of the group. He advises me to look into the hand to hand combat station, if only to learn how to use my body to my advantage, and learn something I don't know.

"Save showing what you are best at for the private showing, understand?" I nod, and get up, its almost 10, the time when the training is to begin, so I get up to leave, surprised at how good it felt to speak with Haymitch on a neutral subject, our personalities for once not clashing at all. I almost want to thank him, until he opens his mouth again.

"One last thing. When you are in the training arena, I want you to keep an eye out for Mera. She's your district partner, so when possible, stay around her, and make nice- in public I expect you to stand besides her, talk to her even, when you can."

The way he says it rubs me the wrong way. My plan from the very beginning was to stay as far as possible from the girl from 12 as possible, so I don't end up getting to know her, and I don't end up having to kill her. And yet here Haymitch is, insisting I stick by her, the stylists dress us in similar clothing and everyone expects us to act as a team, which we are not. I have no plans of allying with Mera during the games, and I have no intention of getting to know her.

Haymitch takes a look at my face and with a glare slams his hand down on the table, causing me to jerk a little. "I mean it prettyboy. You accepted my mentoring back on the train, now do as I say. Meet with Effie and Mera at 10 in the elevator"

I turn and leave the room, furious once more, degraded again to the prettyboy nickname.

The training room is below the ground level, underneath the tributes building. It's an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses, there to help prepare us for the arena - whatever that might be. When we arrive, both Mera and I have a square cloth with the number 12 pinned to our backs, as do all the other tributes, with their district numbers respectively. I stand besides Mera while the head trainer, a tall athletic woman named Atala explains how the training schedule works.

It is rather straight forward, apart from engaging with any of the other tributes in any combative exercises, there are no rules. If we want to hit someone, there are assistants on hand. While Atala talks, I take a moment to look at my competitors. Almost all of them are smaller than me, younger than me, and less well fed. For all that 12 is the poorest district, because of my excursions to the woods, the Tesserae slips I have taken out during the years and my families resourcefulness, I have never been underfed. My arms and legs might be thin, but the bones are covered in wiry muscles, my body is used to hardship and work.

I am starting to feel confident about my chances when my eyes land on the boy from two, and my hopes splatter like waves against rocks. The career tributes from 1, 2 and 4 all look prepared. Traditionally they have been well fed and trained, and the boy from 2 embodies everything a career should be.

He's as tall as me, and double my grist. All muscle, his neck thick and chest bulging. His blue eyes are piercing and eager, his mouth a thin line of anticipation. When Atala allows us to head over to the individual stations, he heads straight towards the deadly weapons, picking up a sword and handling it with ease as he begins to destroy training dummy after training dummy.

I try to take the boy off my mind, and look around, wondering where to go and what to try out. Mera has headed over to the edible plants section, which I don't need to learn, and Haymitch has told me to stay away from the bows and arrows, where the blond girl from 1 is already standing at, shooting at a dummy in a basic position.

I decide to go with the hand to hand combat with knives section first. Atala herself ends up being my instructor, probably because of her stature, the woman is strong and tall, and she shows me a couple of grips and moves with the knife which are simple, but could be deadly in the correct situation. I spend the entire morning with her, and though I am inexperienced, I can tell that Atala is pleased to have an apt learner. I pick up fast, and what I don't quite get I still store for future reference.

My foot doesn't automatically go to the right position, my forearm doesn't protect my face enough… that's all practice, she says, and I don't have time to practice it well, but still I'll remember.

At midday we break for lunch, and I see that the Career Tributes seem to have already formed some type of alliance, and are conversing loudly, all gathered around one table and eating heartily.

Most of the other tributes sit alone with few exceptions. The boy and girl from 11 stick together, and I notice that the boy with a limp, I think he's from 10, sits with the girls from 6 and 7.

I go sit by Mera, as per Haymitch's instructions. She seems surprised to see me, but does not comment on it. We say nothing to each other, but eat in peace.

The days pass by in this routine. In the morning I go to Atala, learn a little of how to use a knife in close hand combat, and what to do when weaponless. In the afternoon I alternate between the other stations, always avoiding the careers and archery. I spend some time with the knot-making instructor showing him my trapping skills, and learning what little he has to show me. I do the weights once, dismayed by how little I can lift over my head compared to the boys from 1 and 2, and climb some ropes.

The meals I all spend by Mera, though we don't speak much. Sometimes I can't help myself and I'll correct something I've seen her doing, like how to climb a tree more effectively, and why she should stay away from this or that plant, even if the instructor says the plant is edible. In the night, I fall exhausted to my bed and dream fitfully. About Katniss and my family, about previous games, the Avox girl and the future. In the mornings Effie and Haymitch meet up with me and Mera separately to ask about everything. Who watched us do what, what tribute excelled at what, they seem to put aside their differences to help us train.

But every instruction I get starts to annoy me as the days pass by. Mostly because Haymitch is always asking me about Mera. How did you do in this station? Good, what about Mera. Did you stay by Mera, who's looking at Mera. Mera, Mera, Mera.

The third morning, the day of the individual examinations, we all eat breakfast together, silently, for once. At a quarter to 10 we stand to leave, but Haymitch grabs my arm before I'm completely out of my chair. I'm a little on edge, and I swear, if he says one thing about Mera, I'll explode.

Instead,

"Gale, today at your private session. Go all out. Make them remember you."

There's something about the intensity of his eyes, of his voice, that leaves me slightly shaken. In the Training Gymnasium, they call us out for the private sessions one by one, District by District, first the boy, then the girl tribute. District 12 is obviously the last, and Mera and I stay close by, but silently, as the hours go on by. By the time Atala calls out my name, only Mera remains.

She sits absolutely still, a small gargoyle in the empty lunch room, and I almost say some words of encouragement before reminding myself that I can't care for this girl, and enter the room.

Immediately I can tell that the atmosphere is not, at all, what I expected from a test. As the second to last tribute of the day, obviously, most of the Gamemakers just want to head home and leave already. Make them remember you says Haymitch's voice in my head.

I walk over to the center of the training ground, and notice that a couple of the Gamemeakers actually stop eating and nod towards me, talking between each other. I call out my name, then head over to the knife collection.

First thing I do is cram as many blades as I can onto my body the way Atala taught me. I can get two blades into each boot. Strap one to my leg, there onto my belt and another in my pants. One blade up each arm, One in the small of my back and four strapped to my chest. Then, to show how these really aren't going to be an impediment to moving, I turn around and sprint across the floor, go into a roll and take out one of the knifes strapped to my chest, throwing it at the training dummy assigned to spear throwing. My knife hits its shoulder, not a crippling hit, but I run again and jump on top of it, taking out a second knife and stabbing it in the head.

I look up at the Gamemakers, and the ones who where paying attention to me are nodding, writing this down. Unsure of where to go next for a second, I decide to go with what I know, traps and snares.

I can't help but glance over my shoulder every couple of minutes to see if any of the Gamemakers are paying attention to me, and I'm slowly starting to get angry by the fact that most of them aren't.

Make them remember you said Haymitch.

Well, these Capitol freaks like blood and gore and flashy displays of strength don't they?

I stare at all the materials in the station, and an idea that has been forming in my head since I was a boy, full of rage in the woods towards a system of government that had condemned my father to death, my family to starvation, begins to take real shape in my head.

It doesn't take long to do what I want to, because I'm not trying to hide my work so that animals will fall unsuspecting into the trap.

It's a modification to the simple 'catch a tribute by the foot and leave him hanging' trick. I weave a barbed wire in with the trap, alter it to act like a bear snare.

When I'm done it looks ugly, and useless for practical use. I stand up and walk towards the closest manikin, grab it and toss it towards my trap. It weighs a little more than Catnip does, but I've been eating well this week, have a little more muscle than before, so the manikin flies into the trap.

It snaps up with a terribly loud noise, and I hear some of the Gamemakers shout out in shock. I just stare at my invention and smile slowly.

It grabs the dummy by the feet, as it should, and when it's suspended into the air the second trap activates and the barbed wire uncoils and wraps around it, from feet to head and laches on tight. If the dummy where a real person, not only would the trap leave him or her immobile, but the barbed wire, drawn so tight over it, would cut skin and bleed the tribute out.

At least, if it weren't so obviously dangerous looking. The idea needs some work.

I turn around and glance at the Gamemakers. The sound of the wire uncoiling has made a couple more pay attention to me, and I see some of them talking excitedly between each other. My next station is pretty obvious to me. I have their attention. Now I have to make them remember me.

I head towards the shooting pit for the first time and take time just selecting a bow. None of them look like the handcrafted ones back home, but I don't care how it looks, just how it shoots.

My first shot doesn't hit the manikin, the second does, but misses the vital spots. I ignore the Gamemakers completely, and just focus on my shooting. The third shot goes straight through the manikin's painted heart. I shoot some more at the head and heart alternatively to demonstrate that my aim is true, then when my quivers run out I take another one and start running around as I shoot, from farther off or closer. I'm not Katniss, not every arrow goes exactly where I want it, but after the first arrow, none miss any of the dummies.

Tired now, and calculating it's been about 15 minutes since I was called in, I glance back at the Gamemakers to see what they think. Instantly my eyes narrow. Seneca Crane is calling everyone, even those who were paying attention to me, towards a table where a huge roasted pig is.

I see red.

The Gamemakers are situated on a high platform, too far up for anyone to reach, but I take one of the sturdier arrows I hadn't wanted to try out, made out of metal and about 3 cm thick, string it and aim at the wall, halfway up from my position to where they are. It lands with a thunk, but they don't pay me any mind. I take another and aim it a little higher, and then a third, higher. Then I lay the bow down and take a running start, it was unreachable before, but now because of the arrows, I can climb it.

I do so, and swing myself over, landing with a crouch.

One of the female Game makers notices me and shouts in surprise.

All of them are staring at me now, some in shock, some in annoyance, but none of them in fear. I suddenly remember that I still have about 5 blades on me, and almost unwillingly think how easy it would be to kill them all.

Most of them are fat, none of them have weapons. I could do it.

Make them remember you.

I could kill them.

They'd execute me later of course, but it might be worth it, to stop the games for a year. I'd avoid death by their terms.

My hand twitches.

Only maybe they wouldn't stop the games at all. Maybe the capitol has a string of Gamemakers as long as the one they have for tributes. No one would now, down here in this basement what I had done, and I'd die for nothing.

They might even revert to the original district 12 boy tribute to replace me.

And I'd be breaking my promise to my siblings.

I look at them all, stand up tall and walk over to the pig.

The Gamemakers step away from me, as if I were some type of badly behaved pet, some grumble and critique me for my manners, but I glare at them, for once letting my hatred for them shine through into my expression, and I see as their annoyance slowly becomes anxiousness, and anxiousness becomes fear. It makes me smile internally. I grab the apple from the pig's mouth and take a bite from it. I look at Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker and put on an innocent face.

I'm terrible at innocent faces.

"So? Am I done yet?" I ask him, mouth full.

A fat blond man to Crane's right takes a handkerchief and dries his sweating forehead.

"Gale Hawthorne, district 12 boy. Yes, I think that demonstration was sufficient. You are dismissed."

I take another bite of the apple and smile at them, then jump off the ledge. I fall in a crouch, and then stand up, the fall jarring but not injuring me at all.

I head towards the door. I stop, sigh as if exasperated and look back up at them in mock embarrassment.

"Sorry, I almost forgot."

I start taking off the knives hidden on my body. I know most of them failed to see me when I strapped them on in the first place, too preoccupied with their exhaustion and their food, and every time I let a knife fall to the ground, with a sharp clang, I see more and more of their faces turning into horrified masks.

When I'm done I smile at them insincerely again and head out.

Make them remember you, said Haymitch.

As I get into the elevator to go back up to my room, the adrenaline slowly starts to leave my veins and the elation I have felt of one-upping the Gamemakers evaporates. I don't feel particularly happy or exited about it anymore, and so when I get back to the 12th floor, I don't speak to anyone at all.

Haymitch and Effie are nowhere in sight, nor is Meera or the stylists, so I just go straight towards my room, and lay down. I don't know how exactly, but I seem to doze off and fall into an amazingly dream-free sleep. I wake up to the sound of the door being knocked, and Effie telling me that dinner is in 10 minutes and that we will be watching the scores together in the living room area.

Ceasar Flikerman and Claudius Templesmith sit and analyze the scores. The boy from 1 gets a 9, the girl an 8. Both from 2 a 10. The redhead from 5 gets an acceptable 7, as does, surprisingly, the girl from 11, and her massive district partner another 8.

Then its 12's turn. I get a 10, and Mera gets a 5.

Ridiculously, I feel pleased with this. I look around at Portia and Cinna and Effie, all congratulating me in their own way, and then at Haymitch.

For once he's not saying anything at all, just looking at me with a blank expression. As we stare at each other my small smile fades, my blood slows, my body clenches, and I feel cold.

I'd feelt almost happy at my score.

Happy that I have impressed the Capitol scum. Happy, that I am doing exactly what they want me to. Playing out my part.

My picture stares back at me from the screen, my skin still soft and babyish because of the prepping, my hair neat and my uniform crisp.

I look like one of them.

Maybe that's why Haymitch's face is almost one of disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is by Kurt Vonnegut, one of my favorite authors.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

* * *

6-. All the world's a stage

* * *

Haymitch groans and takes another sip of his flask.

"You couldn't convince your own mother to give you money with that smile" he says. I drop the grin on my face with a sigh and shoot him an annoyed look before getting up from my seat on the couch in front of him and walking over to the window.

"My mother doesn't have any money to give me, even if she wanted to" I say. He rolls his eyes, and waves at me offhandedly.

"Your father then. He wouldn't give you a piece of coal for that astoundingly bad performance."

"My father's dead." I say flatly, rubbing my hands over my face, exhausted.

Yesterday was another night of bad sleep and nightmares, and I've been stuck all morning in a room with Haymitch trying to come up with an interesting persona for the Interview this afternoon with Caesar Flikerman. 

2 hours later, and nothing. We've tried arrogant, but that didn't work because arrogance is not something I can comfortably fake, we tried sarcastic and unconcerned, but that idea was killed before it even began whey I volunteered for the slaughter in place of my kid brother.

For the last quarter of an hour we've been trying to force 'quiet but charismatic' to work, but every expression I make ends up looking incredibly phony- even by the Capitol's standards. Haymitch burps behind me, and I turn around, crossing my arms and leaning against the window to look at him once more.

"At this point, snowflake, even acting as yourself is better that what we have." he says.

I sigh, frustrated, and run my hand through my hair semi-unconsiously.

"Unfortunately, acting like myself includes my... dislike of all of this." I say, waving my hand in the air signaling everything around me, careful not to actually say I hate the Capitol, but aware enough that my attitude so far towards my situation here has not been expressing love and adoration. I say it offhandedly, but Haymitch actually perks up at my remark.

"Maybe you do have a pretty brain to match that pretty face," He starts, and I flip him a finger for his trouble, 

"What if you don't only dislike all of this but dislike all of everything….I mean, lets face it, you're mean to Effie, mean with your prep team, with the game makers and with everyone you meet... but what if you're also like that to me, and with the avoxes, and the coalminers in D12 and the farmers in 11 and everyone else in Panem."

He leans forward, points at me with the hand he's holding his liquor flask with,

"Basically, you'd be the asshole you've dreamt of being."

The idea has its appeal, even if I don't exactly understand how that will get me sponsors. Only there's one problem, and I'm quick to point it out.

"Yeah, except there's there's this little detail you're overlooking again: Rory."

Instead of deflating like I expected Haymitch gets even more exited.

"No but you see Rory is what makes this perfect. The Capitol will eat it up like pie. Think about it, you hate everyone except for your family because of some tragic event that permanently scared you… you said your father's dead. Go with that. Talk about your struggles for the wellbeing of the brothers and the little sister and how you had to be strong because no one would help you, yadda yadda and so the entire world is the enemy except for them. Be all tragic and strong about how you took your family and rebuilt without help from anyone so now the world is your enemy. That way you can be as mean as you want and instead of hating you the Capitol will justify anything you say and blame it on a bad childhood."

The more Haymitch talks, a little jumbled and a little slurred because of the alcohol, the angrier and angrier I get.

"You want me to use my family as a tool to get sponsors." I say, no inflection in my voice.

Haymitch looks at me as if I where stupid.

"Obviously, handsome. A little deception a little truth, BAM! we have the story of the year. What's the use of a terrible backstory if you don't get to use it?"

He is so detached in that moment, talking about my life, my father and my siblings so abstractly that he is almost unrecognizable from the man I have begun to get to know these last couple of days.

Haymitch is a drunk, yes, but he's District 12's drunk. He's the man that will stumble into the Hob waving coins at the white liquor vendors and not caring if a couple fall out so that kids lurking about can take them. Haymitch who starts every morning with a cup of coffee in the morning with an 1/8th of his mug full of the amber capitol liquor in the square bottle and waits for it to cool 3 minutes before gulping it down. Who refers to everyone by nicknames, pretending not to know names, but who will start every serious conversation with me by calling me Gale.

Haymitch who told me that you are not supposed to interact with avoxes because they are basically slaves but who cleans after himself so they don't have extra work, and smiles at them sadly when he thinks no one is looking.

"C'mon stop standing there like an idiot, and practice prettyboy, we don't have all day, you have to go to Effie in an hour for etiquette and I have to think about the Mouse, maybe she'll listen to me and bring up the poor struggling Seam family she left behind to Caesar."

Mouse is Haymitch's nickname for Mera.

Maybe its his voice or maybe it's his bringing up my district partner or just stress in general, but something inside my head that has been stretched taught all week snaps.

Usually, back in District 12, whenever something is bothering me, whenever I get too angry or frustrated, I go into the woods and scream and rant my heart out. Sometimes Catnip is there, sometimes she isn't. I do it probably every two or three days, after a bad sell, an encounter with a peacekeeper, a fight, a crappy day… it's my way of letting go. But I've been here at the Capitol almost a week now, where the stress is double and there are no woods to unwind.

Something has changed in the way Haymitch acts towards me since last night's scores.

After the train he cleaned up his act pretty well, actually played his role as mentor, but today he's back in wrinkled clothing, bloodshot eyes and white liquor. He fought with Effie this morning for the first time since the train as well, and he's been uncharacteristically loud about his dissatisfaction with me all morning. And Haymitch brings up Mera almost every conversation we have, and it annoys me.

Mera this, Mera that, help Mera, train with Mera, sit by her in public... everything clicks. I won't, and can't, keep quiet any longer.

"SHUT UP! Shut up about my family, my father, my struggles, about it all. How would you know, living up there in your house at the Victor's Village, money every month, nothing to spend it on but liquor everyday. And stop harassing me about Mera! I don't give a damn about that girl you so obviously want to win, and I won't be helping her any longer!"

Haymitch's eyes narrow, and he gets up from his seat. Apparently, he's not going to be keeping quiet either.

“You’re an arrogant, hateful boy Gale, and don't ever assume anything about me. Learn your damn place. Mera has no chance of wining these games, you know it, but it's my job as her mentor to help her anyways, so stop talking before you say something even more stupid!"

I don't stop to process what he is saying.

My blood is hot and pulsing, and once I start, it takes a while for me to calm down again. I am not calm, I am done with overthinking every move, and I need to vent.

"Mentor? Don't make me laugh. A mentor helps tributes by getting sponsors, but a drunk like you, sponsors probably see you and any chance we have goes out the window. Year after year, there must have been someone in 12 with a chance at survival that you ruined!"

Haymitch lets out a dry laugh. "Someone with a chance of winning? The Hunger Games? Someone like you perhaps?"

"Yes like me!" I say, still angry, not really thinking, just wanting to fight- but I hear what I say and stop short.

"12 has never had a tribute like you Gale, not since I've won." says Haymitch, no longer yelling, "and you may be right about one thing... I didn't realize this until last night but you do have a chance, you're one of the strongest competitors, you could win but…" He trails off, his anger extinguished, but mine still runs strong.

"What is your problem!" I demand, "You told me to make an impression, I did. You told me to listen to you, I have. And look, I got a good score. Why are you acting strange about it now?"

Haymitch looks away, takes a long swig of liquor, says "Caring about tributes only makes it worse when they die" as if he's said it a million times.

"Maybe if you cared you'd try harder to actually bring a tribute home for once" I bite back.

Haymitch flinches, but then looks straight at me.

I'm taken aback by the depths of emotion hidden in my mentor's eyes. Seam eyes. Like Catnip's I think, and my anger ebbs away. I feel almost guilty about the things I've said. They seem stupid now, childish.

"I care about you Gale. But I realized last night… I realized that perhaps... perhaps I don't want you to win at all."

He doesn't say it maliciously, its almost an apology of sorts, but still, his words feel like poison, injected straight into my veins. I can't stand to be in his presence a moment longer, can't look at his face, so I whirl around and wrench the door open, close it behind me with a slam.

The rest of the morning is a haze.

I sit with Effie for a while, learn how I'm supposed to walk, which way I have to face to get the best angle for the cameras. I go to Portia and the prep team and get dressed, I eat lunch alone and get into the car that takes me to the place where the interviews are to take place. Before long the introductions are done and one by one the tributes take to the stage for their 3 minute interview.

Some of them are noteworthy, and I try to pay attention- particularly to the career tributes, by biggest competition, and surprisingly the girls from 5 and 11 seem oddly competent. Most of the tributes however are just scared kids who will get no sponsors, and die of hunger and starvation if they aren't killed first.

Before I know it, its Mera's turn. She speaks well, all things considered, unlike me, she seems to have taken Haymitch's advice, and acts astounded and grateful about everything the Capitol has given us. Caesar asks her about the inauguration ceremony costumes, and she says how wonderful and scary they where, and blushing, admits that she didn't wear the crown of flames out of fear, but would do so now if given the chance again. Caesar begins to ask her about something else, but the time runs out, and just like that, its my turn.

I sit down on the chair opposite Cesar Flikerman and he smiles at me.

"Well well, Gale Hawthorne! You are quite the unexpected surprise for this year. Volunteering from 12, I don't think we've ever had that before have we?" I just stare at him blankly, thinking he's been around for the games much more than I have, how would I know?

"Not that we are complaining are we?" says Cesar, turning to the audience with a huge grin. They go wild, screaming out No! and Gale! and 12!.

Cesar laughs and turns back to me.

"So, Gale, getting serious now, how do you like the Capitol?"

That's one of his usual opening lines, easy to work with. I could say its an amazing place, or its too alien for my tastes, or simply that I like the food and Cesar could work his magic and make my answer look funny, or make me look like a country boy, or a serious guy.

But screw him and his Capitol viewers, screw all these little games they play with us.

"It's fine" I grunt, and instead of sitting straight like Effie taught me just this morning, I slouch down into the seat I'm in, and stare at Cesar impassively.

I glance over at the audience. I can't see Haymitch or Effie, but I know they are there. I can almost imagine the groan on Effie's lips and her putting her head in her hands in despair. Cesar blinks at me in confusion and then regains his bearings and laughs his odd Capitol accented laugh.

"'It's fine' he says!, well that certainly is a new way of describing it! You seem to be a funny guy, Gale" Some of the audience laugh with Cesar nervously, unsure of what the joke is.

There is no joke.

I shrug, "No, not really"

Cesar, to his credit, doesn't blank out again.

"Well then! Lets talk about you're score, a 10! That is simply incredible. Can you tell us anything about that?"

I look at the audience and find the fat blond who dismissed me yesterday in the front row. I grunt, and stare straight at the fat man when I respond, my face as expressionless as ever.

"I got a free meal out of the session."

Cesar looks at me in bafflement, and then follows my gaze to looks down at man I'm staring at, who seems to be sweating profusely, and patting himself down with a hankerchief. He tries to rescue the interview again, making fun of the blond man, whose name I discover is Plutarch.

His next question puts me into an even fowler mood than I was when I sat down.

"Well, being from District 12, you only have one living victor there. Does that change the way you go into these games? Your strategy at all?"

I glare out into the crowd, trying to find my supposed mentor. I don't, so instead glance back at Cesar. I'm still angry at Haymitch, but more than that, I'm hurt. I feel betrayed, I'm furious- no matter his reasons for saying what he did.

"Haymitch?" I start with a sneer, "He's a drunk. Of course it changes things, tributes from Twelve have to deal with him on top of all of this crap."

The auditorium is silent now, and I can tell that what little support I had before the interview is quickly evaporating. Like Haymitch said, these people want me to open up to them, show them a person they are willing to invest in, both emotionally and economically. But so far I've given them nothing. No insight on my personality, my District, my strategy for the games. They are unused to this behavior, though it's not the first time a Tribute has acted in an unfavourable way towards them, it's rare, and they don't like it at all.

I even seem to be bothering Cesar, who is so unflappable and plastic I would think that to be impossible.

"Lets talk about your brother then," he says.

My first thought is to shoot him down again and just say no. But then, almost unwillingly I imagine my family sitting in front of the television screen, Mother with a defeated look on her face, Posy in her arms asking why I'm being so mean. Vick, nervous, gnawing on his fingernails, which I always tell him to stop doing.

I think of Rory.

Of my promise, to Rory.

I've only ever broken one promise to him before, and that was the year Dad died, when everything was terrible and I had to drop out of school, and spend all day in the woods trying to get food. Before I met Katniss so we could share the load.

I was tired all the time, nervous and afraid, and it reflected on my brothers. To try and cheer them up I promised Rory that for Mother's birthday I would help him make a cake for her. By then she was almost a month away from Posy's birth, and so she had to lay down frequently because of the pain, and so her birthday was supposed to be something special. Rory was 8, I was 14. At first I did help, going to Old Sae for a recipe, convincing one of our neighbours a couple of houses down who had a working oven to cook it there, letting Rory come with me to the woods to gather eggs for the cake. The day before, all we needed was some baking powder, and I had planned to trade the baker whatever game I had for only a spoonful of the stuff, I could get a bag at the market, but we didn't need much. It wouldn't be a big cake, we didn't need one, just something to show Mom we cared.

But when I went over to the bakery it was the baker's wife at the door. She's a cruel woman, and she insulted me for even coming to her doorstep, she insulted my Dad, insulted the Seam. I got so angry with the whole thing I took the three squirrels I had to the Hob instead and gambled them away for nothing.

When I got back home… I'll never forget Rory's tear streaked face as he screamed at me, "You promised! You promised!" over and over again.

I imagine him now, older but wearing the same expression. "This isn't trying to win Gale! You promised!" he'd say.

Cesar Flickerman's voice shakes me out of my funk.

"Gale?" he says softly. I have no idea what face I've been making, how long I've been thinking, "About your brother?" he prompts.

If I do die in these games, I don't want my siblings to remember me like this. A mean, angry boy who wouldn't even answer a few questions for their sake.

"Yeah, Rory" I say, and my voice comes out rough, so I clear my throat once and keep talking.

"Rory's 12. He's a bit like me, doesn't like talking to strangers, or being in the spotlight. But he's very brave, and I know that whatever happens to me, he'll take care of our family. I trust him. I love him."

I close my eyes and everyone is quiet, when I open them I stare straight at the cameras, and not at the audience.

"My other siblings, Vick and Posy, and my Mother. They are very important to me. I'd do anything for you guys, you know that. I'll try to keep my promise."

I look down, drained.

Seems like, in the end, despite everything, I did end up listening to Haymitch. I hear some whispers in the crowd, but can't bring myself to care about their reaction anymore. I just want this damn interview to end.

As if on queue, the buzzer to signal the conclusion of my three minutes sounds, and its over.

I stand up, nod towards Cesar, not because I want to, but because its preferable to shaking his hand - and get off the stage.

I can't really think straight as I head back into the Tributes Building- I catch a glimpse of Haymitch and Effie with Portia in the dinning room, but don't feel like talking to any of them.

A part of me wants to apologize to Haymitch, to ask him for an explanation, but a bigger part of me is too proud to do so. Instead, I head in the direction of my room, and stop suddenly when I see Mera sitting on the floor in front of my door.

She's still in her interview dress, still wearing the makeup that makes her eyes look wider, her cheeks rosier, her lips fuller. I avoid her eyes and try to step around her, but she calls out to me.

"Gale. Please wait."

I freeze. Her voice is a low whisper, and this is the first time she has directly talked to me. So I stop. Look down at her.

She's playing with her hands, unable to look up at me.

"I… I wanted to thank you, before its too late" She whispers, and my mind blanks out.

"I didn't know Haymitch told you to help me. I know I'm a deadweight, but you didn't have to listen to him and you did it anyways."

Now she looks up, her Seam eyes accusingly grateful.

"So… Thank you"

Guilt floods my brain.

I didn't mean for her to hear my fight with Haymitch, but then, thinking about it logically, I was yelling pretty loud and Mera was just a door away from it all. I run my hand through my hair brusquely, trying to think up something to say when kind words have never come easy to me.

She stands up, brushes her hands on the ballerina like skirt she is wearing. They simulate the movement of gentle candle-like flames, a beautiful dress- and turns to leave.

"Wait! Mera." I call after her, and she turns.

I decide to be truthful with her.

"I tried to keep away not because of anything to do with you. Its just… I don't want to have to kill you."

I wince internally, knowing how harsh it sounds. She looks at my face searchingly, and then smiles wanly at me.

"I understand. I'll try to keep away from you in the arena, then." with that she turns once more and heads straight towards her room.

I open the door to my room and head straight towards the shower.

I take a long bath, experimenting with all the hundreds off buttons on the thing, all the scents and flavors and heats the water comes out of.

I dislike the searing hot, but warm water calms me, and cold water makes me alert. When I step out, my body still tense, but clean- the red haired Avox girl is leaving the dinner I skipped for me besides the bed.

It's like the Capitol is not only content to torture me in public, they have to do it in the supposed safety of my own room as well.

When she notices me, the girl stands up straight and then bows. She turns towards the door and I call out.

"I'm sorry" I tell her desperately, so tired with being angry, with being here… not only apologizing to her but to my district partner as well, to all the children I might kill tomorrow…

"I'm just… so sorry. About everything."

I say it because Rory crying is still fresh in my mind. Because Catnip's face after that awful day we saw her and her friend in the woods, her absolute confusion and sadness is seared into my mind forever. Because seeing what the Capitol does to their own people... I think that was what made me finally realize how much I wanted the entire system to change. I don't even know if I'm apologizing for not saving her, or if I'm apologizing as a proxy for the entire Capitol, for what they did to her, for making her run away in the first place.

She stops and turns towards me, a real smile on her face. I'm taken aback by how pretty it is.

She moves her hand in a certain way, then she nods at me in acknowledgment, and leaves.

I guess that means she forgives me.

That night, I sleep fitfully and wake up often, always on the verge of a nightmare but never quite remembering if I actually had one or if it's just nervous energy.

Dawn breaks suddenly, like arrows of light shooting across the sky.

For the first time since arriving at the Capitol, I skip breakfast and try to avoid everyone, without luck. When I get into the elevator to leave the Tributes Building for the last time, Haymitch steps in with me.

We go down the levels in awkward, tense silence.

When we pass level 3, Haymitch speaks.

"When the Games start, as soon as the 60 seconds are done, run in the opposite direction of the Cornucopia. Hopefully there will be some sort of foliage, woods, trees… there usually are. Get as far as possible before stoping. I'll help you, you've earned that."

I want to ask him about his comment yesterday about not wanting me to win, if this is his way of making it up to me, why he wants me to run, but the elevator opens at ground level and he's gone before I even open my mouth.

I'm injected, like all the other tributes with a tracker, then transported to the undisclosed location of this years Hunger Games. We arrive at a place underground, into a type of locker room, where only Portia is. She undresses me and then dresses me again in the uniform for this years games- good boots, a good black jacket, trousers with many pockets. She's quick, efficient, and more than anything quiet manner.

Out of everyone that I've met since volunteering, she is the person I have most come to appreciate apart from Haymitch. She does her job with passion, but without joy, knowing that what she makes is of no real value to anyone but herself and to me.

I step into a glass tube, and am surprised when she hugs me, briefly. "Good Luck", she says, then steps back as the tube closes and I'm shot upwards.

The change from shadows into daylight is blinding for a moment.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!" cries the voice of Claudius Templesmith, the announcer for the Games.

His voice tenses my muscles, sharpens the world around me, and sends all of my senses into overdrive. I take a deep breath whilst clenching and unclenching my fists, my eyes scanning my surroundings. The tributes, including me are all in a loose ring surrounding the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn where all the good supplies for surviving this arena are. There's food and water in there, medicine, weapons, shelter. Shrewn around the Cornucopia are other supplies as well, decreasing in usefulness as they get farther away from the center. My eyes focus on a knife about half-way between me and the Cornucopia.

Haymitch said to run to the woods, but the knife looks ridiculously useful, and my anger towards him is still fresh, which dulls all of his advice and makes me want to ignore him.

Then my eyes wander farther and I see it.

Shiny and metallic, smack in the middle of the Cornucopia, a bow and a quiver of arrows.

Already the minute we have to remain standing on the podiums is half gone, yet I run through three scenarios in my head simultaneously. One, I listen to Haymitch, turn around and run towards the woods, get in, spend the days hiding and waiting for an opportunity to arise. Two, I go for the knife, which is a risk, but the payoff would be immeasurable because with it I would not only have a weapon, but an instrument for survival, then run towards the woods- with some luck getting some other things on the way and thus having a much better chance of getting through the games. Three, fight my way towards the center any way I can, grab that bow, take out anyone in my way with arrows, then head towards the woods with a very real chance of not only survival, but of winning. That is, of course, if someone doesn't kill me in the bloodbath.

 

20 seconds remaining.

 

I look to my left and see the District 4 girl, she's jumping on the balls of her feet, staring at the Cornucopia fixedly, ready to head into the melee and fight, while to my right the redhead from 5 is facing the opposite way and in position to run away from the impeding battle.

 

15 seconds.

 

I stare down at my hands, my mind racing, knowing that for all my length and quickness, I am not fast in long, straight distances, and even going full speed the bow is still far away enough that someone else will be arriving at it or at one of the other dangerous weapons around it before me.

 

10 seconds.

 

The knife then, that will take about 5 long steps to grab and once I have that I can fight off anyone but the tributes who are real threats if I need to.

 

**5**

 

_Shit_.

 

**4**

 

Oh god. This is really happening.

 

**3**

 

Now or never.

 

**2**

 

I get in position to run, I-

 

**1**

 

_Go._

* * *

**End Part 1**

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is Shakespeare, again.
> 
> I like to call Haymitch's approach to Gale's fabricated Capitol persona the Loki approach, because tragic backstory is what most of the fans blame his warped behavior on. Same principle here.
> 
> As for the fight between Gale and Haymitch, I hope they're not too out of character. I imagine them both to have quick ignition personalities, people who say anything to hurt you and win the argument without really realizing the implications of what is being said.
> 
> Calm!Gale would never tell Haymitch to his face he thinks Tributes from 12 die because Haymitch's mentoring is bad (he doesn't really think that at all), and Calm!Haymitch would never admit (however twistedly he says it) that he believes Gale wouldn't do well as a Victor.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part II**

* * *

7-. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked-

* * *

 

The countdown reaches zero and the arena explodes into action. No longer is anyone thinking about the cameras, or the viewers, or anything at all other than our immediate survival. I see tributes gathering up things from the ground- some are already engaging in battle, some are already running away.

The girl from 2 has somehow gotten a hold of a good weapon close to her platform and with it is slashing her way towards the Cornucopia.

The boy from 11 reaches for a humongous survival backpack with one hand, and with the other pounds in the head of some smaller tribute who thought it was a good idea to reach out for the same item.

Mera is nowhere to be found.

Dammit Gale, concentrate  _now_.

Fight or flight instincts kick in, and it's in a moment like this is when you discover who you really are.

 

Me?

I run towards the knife.

 

An arms length away from it, I have to roll to the ground to avoid a rock that comes sailing towards my head with dangerous precision. I lift my head and stare straight into the smirking face of my platform neighbor, the girl from District 4. Her mission in diverting me from the weapon accomplished, she turns her body slightly away from me and towards my knife. I scramble to my feet and run to intercept her, yet as soon as I am back on my feet she turns back to face me, putting her body in my direct line of vision- right between me and my knife.

We stare at each other for a moment, trying to gauge our opponents strengths and weaknesses only by sight. I can vaguely remember her in the training arena, performing various immobilizing wrestling movements with the trainers. What I know for sure is that this girl is a career tribute, someone who's been practicing for the Hunger Games all her life. It also dawns on me that I have never before been in a fight with a girl, and that If I loose  _this_  fight, I'm dead.

We run towards each other.

I go in to punch her, but she's quicker than me, sidestepping and getting inside my personal space, too close for me to do anything to her, and in one movement she has me off balance and falling to the ground. I grab her by the arm and pull her down with me.

This is what she's good at, this is what I've seen her practicing. I try to keep my arms free and my neck protected from her as we roll around, grappling for control- yet still she manages to lock both of my legs under her own, twisting her thighs together and pinning me down momentarily.

Still, my arms are much longer than hers, and so even as I'm semi immobile bellow her, I wave at her head, smacking and punching at her with both hands. As much as she blocks with her forearms I already see bruises blooming on her skin, and hear the hisses of pain each time I connect, which encourages me to keep at it, and her to re-evaluate her strategy. The next punch I throw at her, she releases my legs and slithers to the side, twisting and kicking me- very powerfully- on my side.

I shout out in pain- my ribs screaming, and continue struggling with her, trying to pin her down, or at the very least get her out of her comfort zone and failing.

And then with a movement, in a fraction of a second, she has the upper hand.

She's maneuvered herself to be behind me, twisted one of my arms behind me as well in an uncomfortable position, and my legs are once more uselessly pinned beneath our combined weight. I can barely move, all my muscles straining for release. We lay on the ground, twitching, me trying to move, her keeping me in place, and around us chaos reigns.

The girl I'm fighting with is strong and relatively tall for a girl, but her fighting style has nothing to do with size, it’s all about skill. It was foolish of me to even engage her in hand to hand combat. This is her life, and all I've got is a few days in the training sessions and a few fights with drunks, or boys, or drunk boys. This is pathetic, and I need to _get away_ before she thinks of a way to permanently disable me by dislocating my arm, or worse, by breaking my neck.

That opportunity arises when we hear a distinct scream, louder than the rest of the yells and shouts and fighting around us. It's an agonized, death scream. Torn from the throat of a young boy, not yet matured into adulthood, and it makes my opponent twitch in surprise and me to double the adrenaline pouring through my veins. I relax in her grip marginally, and before she can tighten her grip on me I smash my head backwards, towards her.

I think I hit her collarbone, and I'm pretty sure the blow hurts me almost as much as it hurt her, but I was expecting it, and so during her moment of confusion I roll away from her, and see the knife, glinting on the grass tauntingly.

She sees it not even a second after me, but our grappling on the floor has reversed our original positions, and now I'm closer to the knife than she is. I crawl towards it, using my elbows and knees to move faster, and I see her dive sideways, reach for something else in the grass a bit farther away. I grab the knife, get to my feet, staying low and swerve around to face the girl, advancing on her, quick and low.

She reaches whatever it was that she's seen in the grass, grabs it and backflips into a crouching position to turn in my direction.

Its a move designed to demonstrate her agility and grace, not the most efficient, but the most showy, and I am reminded again that this is all for the cameras, she's focusing on them and her future sponsors as much as on me. Her movement causes her hair tie to snap audibly, and break, signifying its poor quality. Her hair falls out of the ponytail she had it in, and the momentum of her curve makes it so her hair fall in front of her face, blinding her for only a second.

I don't waste it. With all my strength, and all my experience with hunting, all the velocity I can muster, I slash forwards with the knife towards the most vulnerable spot she has- her neck.

In her hand is the weapon she had been reaching for.

Some sort of whip with a pointed, metallic tip. Her hair falls softly back in place by either side of her head, and I see her eyes- blue eyes- widen. No pain registers in her expression, her mouth is open in a small, surprised 'O', and then I notice the blood start to fall in a straight line and flow down her uniform, getting lost in the blackness of her coat.

I've cut deep, and I've cut true, making sure to open up the jugular vein on either side of her neck. Her sunburnt face looses all color, her eyelids shut slowly, and she falls, gracelessly, limply, to the ground, unconscious, soon to be dead.

I stare at her body, and it occurs to me that I've won, and consciously decide not to dwell on that- or at the very least, not to think about it this very second.

I stand up straight and look around.

My immediate surroundings are controlled chaos. There are fights all around me, tributes running and screaming. I'm temporarily disoriented as I see something come flying towards me, and duck.

A tribute - the boy from district 6 - runs past me, shielding himself against anything that comes from behind him with a slab of plastic. I grip my blood coated knife in my hand with no intention of throwing it away.

I run towards the Cornucopia, trying to find the shiny metal of my bow. As soon as I have that, I'm done, I'm gone.

But with mounting despair, I realize it's not where I'd seen it before. I look around to the fighting tributes, trying to locate it, and can't. I start to panic.

My vision blurs, then sharpens, and I look straight ahead at the Cornucopia, and notice that it and the field around it are no longer as crowded as it seemed mere seconds ago.

There are bodies lying still on the ground.

And there are other bodies leaving, running away in different directions. Some are already far off. I can barely make out the boy from 11, his huge shape a spot to my left.

I notice the District 2 boy, standing at the mouth of the Cornucopia, a sword in his hand and the body of the District 4 male tribute lying on the ground in front of him. He no longer seems to be paying much attention to the fighting, instead simply letting his eyes wander to the various objects inside the metallic structure, his simple presence discouraging anyone from trying to venture in.

The D1 male is finishing someone off in the grass close to the Cornucopia, and farther off, I can see the District 2 girl throwing knives in the direction tributes are running in. I realize she's not actually trying to hit them, considering how far away they've gotten from her, she's simply keeping track of which direction they are running in for later.

The District 1 girl is close to her - closer than the running tributes, so they must have in fact made an alliance as I suspected, and in her hands I see-

My bow.

As soon as I see it, I seem to notice the danger I am in.

None of the career tributes are concentrating on me directly, but as soon as they do, no doubt they'll join together to take me down. I look towards the woods, and with a sinking feeling realize that they are too far away, and that there is no longer enough confusion to distract from me just sprinting towards them. If I leave _now_ , I will still be the closest to them, and they'll catch up to me and take me down, no doubt in my mind.

I need a plan, and fast, or I’m already dead.

Discreetly, I crouch low as I breathe slowly to lower my heartbeat and take in my surroundings, whilst at the same time thinking as fast as I possibly can. The Cornucopia looms ahead of me, distracting and imposing. This metal behemoth of usefulness and opportunity - my brain clicks with a plan as I stare up at it.

It's not the best plan, but Mother always said, stick to the plan you got and don't hesitate- that's better than the best plan in the world if you take too long to execute it.

Slowly, keeping my eyes on the D2 male, the closest one to me, and keeping my center of gravity low, I edge sideways towards the back of the Cornucopia. I pick up a wooden plank along the way with a leather strap, a shield of sorts, and continue to inch closer to the center one step forward, one step sideways, at an even pace, my muscles tight, my knife still in my hand.

I finally get to the golden Cornucopia and can stand straight, the metal wall protecting me from the eyes of my enemies. It's cold to the touch, thick and with many handholds. I breathe in and out, trying to remain calm and climb.

Little by little, slowly, making sure I'm low, I try to reach the top without drawing attention, now concentrating on the female careers, who are the ones most likely to notice me. I reach the apex of the metal structure, finally, after what seems like a million years.

It's a flat surface, wide enough to allow maybe 3 people to lay one besides the other on top of it. There I go down to one knee, resting and assessing my surroundings as I would back home in the woods.

Bellow me, the aftermath of the bloodbath seems calm. The District 1 boy heads into the structure bellow me and I hear as he and the blond from 2 begin to talk. I can hear their voices, yet the metal muffles the exact words they speak.

I catch sight the mangled body of the District 4 girl where I left her. Her head is facing away from me, her unbound, hazel colored hair lays all around her. I feel a pang in my chest, but force it out of my mind, I can't think of what just happened, not yet, so I look away.

The view from this height also allows me a better look at the arena. There's a lake not too far off, and fields and mountains, and woods. I stare at them longingly, knowing I missed my chance to use them to my advantage the second I went for the knife.

I wonder what Haymitch thinks of this situation I've gotten myself in.

It's the District 1 female who notices me. She and the D2 girl are both walking to meet up with their other allies, and she glances up, and sees me. Her eyes widen in surprise, and with a jerk she stops walking and points at me with the hand she has the bow in as she yells,

"Marvel! Cato! 12's on top of the Cornucopia!"

The aftermath of the bloodbath had seemed almost calm a second ago, because my heartbeat has slowed, because my tension had ebbed away.

The blond girl's shout brings me back to reality, and once more, my adrenaline skyrockets with anticipation. I clutch my knife with a white hand, and stand up as the male career tributes leave the interior of the Cornucopia to stand besides the girls and look up at me. D1 comes out with a spear in each hand, D2 with a spear in his left and a sword in his right. The female tributes run closer to meet the boys, and the smaller one, the dark haired District 2 girl looks around.

"Where's Umi?" she says.

That's my queue to speak.

"I'm assuming you mean your friend from District 4? The girl, I saw your partner from 2 take out the boy, so I doubt he was in your little alliance long term."

She reacts by taking aim at me and throwing a knife. I put up my wooden shield just in time, and it thunks on it uselessly.

"Hey, thanks, I needed another knife." I say. This is all a show I think, act like it.

I pull out the knife, and duck, fall flat to my stomach as the D2 boy throws his spear at me. I think my heart stops, as I hear the air above me literally split with the strength of the throw. I close my eyes and breathe. Then I crouch up to one knee again, and look down.

 

Shit.

 

If I'm going to do this, it has to be now, before they get really serious.

"About 4. Umi, I mean. She's dead, I killed her."

 

I've killed her.

She's dead.

I made that happen. I slashed her throat open with a knife, and now she's dead.

 

But no, I already decided _not to think about that_ unless I want to die as well. I can't get distracted now, this moment is the most important moment of my life, and the thought of it makes my voice tremble slightly. I hope they don't notice.

"Anyways. Since she's dead, a spot has become available in your little alliance, so I'm submitting my application for team Career Tributes." I smile at them. Big, fake, a little mocking. But more importantly, I smile at the cameras.

For a moment there's silence, then the blond girl with the bow laughs. She says,

"Or we could just kill you. Really, you've made our job easier, we don't have to go out and look for you now!"

As she says it she notches an arrow, and I'm suddenly intensely grateful for my years spent with Katniss. I've seen an expert handle and notch an arrow before, so it makes it pretty easy to identify a novice. When she shoots, I don't even move, and still the arrow sails above me and to my left. It's a gamble of course, but one with good odds.

The girl blushes a little, and instinct more than anything saves my life as I notice how the career boy from 2 murmurs something to 1.

A second later, I'm rolling to my right, as Marvel or Cato, whichever one D1 is, launches his first spear with more accuracy than even 2 had when he threw his spear to the spot where I was seconds ago, much lower, so that if I'd gone down instead of sideways again I'd have caught a spear straight to the brain.

 

This is very real.

I am seconds away from death.

 

"Hear me out," I say, "You've already shot 4 weapons at me. I have this great thing to my advantage, it's called higher ground, but I'm sure eventually you will get lucky and hit me with something. But listen, I'm useful. We could be useful to one another."

In my head, I finish that sentence with _for a while_. But you don't say that when you're looking for an alliance. I know, I've been watching the games all my life. There's a code to how you say things while in the arena. It used to seem cowardly to me, when I was back home, safe and comfortable. But now, h,ere in the arena… here any code, any gesture however fake it is, can save my life.

The boy from 2 looks up at me in interest, and I focus on him, even as the girl with my bow starts to say something else.

“Useful? How." He says.

Inwardly, my mouth is hanging open, half of me can't believe that he's taking me seriously enough to even consider what I am proposing and not just finding some better way to kill me right now. On the other hand, this is my chance.

I stand up strait, though I remain tense and alert, looking at the boy from 2 directly, but not ignoring any moves any of the others might make towards me.

"You might have noticed I'm not as useless as the usual District 12 tribute" I say, internally hating myself for saying it, hating the games for making my only chance of survival saying that.

"There are woods around District 12, I learned how to hunt in them when I was pretty young. I know how to track animals, so I know how to track down the other tributes. I could help you find them faster. I know how to make traps, how to get food, and I know how to fight." I'm stretching the truth there, a little, but he doesn't have to know that.

"Cato, what are you doing?" says the female tribute from 2. So this one is Cato.

He crosses his arms as he looks up at me, the sword hanging limply from his hand, looking completely relaxed. He speaks.

"We don't need your hunting to get food, the Cornucopia has plenty. We don't actually need another fighter, 4 against whoever we come across is good enough odds for me, and I'm sure we'll find the other tributes with or without you, either way. You are doing a poor job of convincing me 12, try again."

Good points, all of them. But I'm good at arguing back and thinking on my feet.

"I'm sure you would find the other tributes eventually," I say, "But you don't know how big the arena is, you don't know how long the food supply is going to last. If you don't find all the tributes before the food is gone, you're all in trouble. In which case having me would be useful. And if I helped you find the other tributes before the food runs out, that means there's more to go around for everyone. If you take me out now, I promise I'll take at least one of you with me, maybe even two. I'm pretty sure I'd injure the ones who are left. What odds sounds better to you? An alliance of 2 injured members, or a healthy 5?"

_May the odds be ever in your favor_ says Effie Trinket's voice in my head.

Cato raises his eyebrows at me and nods, then looks back at his other companions, to see their reactions. Marvel, the other boy, shrugs and nods offhandedly, as if he doesn't care either way but sees the reason behind my proposal, so that's a yes. The girl from 1 narrows her eyes and thins her lips, and shakes her head in a no. All eyes turn to the girl from 2, and we all know that it all depends on her. If she says no, they kill me. But if she says yes…

She looks up at me calculatingly, and I stare right back down at her, keeping my face blank, clear of emotions. Her eyes are slightly slanted, dark, like the color of her hair.

She's got pale skin and freckles.

"Hey," she calls up, "How come you didn't ally with your other district partner? You seemed pretty cozy with her in the training arena. Or is this some trick you both planned. Is she hidden somewhere up in the trees, waiting for nightfall or something?"

I snort, and put a look of contempt on my face, faking it for all I'm worth. Caesar Flickerman couldn't get a performance out of me like the one I'm putting on right now if he paid me.

"That girl? I felt sorry for her, so I helped her," I say

2 flips a dagger she has in her hand up in the air. It spins twice and falls back into her palm, and she doesn't even look at it.

"So what if we run into her, are you going to feel too sorry to kill her? Because we don't need any weaklings here."

_Wow_ , thanks for verbalizing one of my biggest fears I think, but I can't show that her words got to me.

Instead I shrug, and say: "I don't feel sorry for anyone now that we are in the arena." I wish it where true. 2 looks like she's into this interrogation, because she keeps firing off questions.

"You got a 10 in the scores" she says.

"Yes" I respond.

"How?" she asks

I shrug again, wave my hands a little.

"I made some traps, shot some arrows, showed some impressive climbing skills and convinced the Game-makers that I was dangerous." I say, looking straight at her, tense and beginning to tire of this standstill. I guess she gets bored with the exchange as well.

"You know what 12," She says, "Sure, why not. You killed Umi, so we do have an empty spot in our ranks. But 10 or no 10, I assure you,  _I_  am more dangerous than  _you_."

And just like that, its done.

Cato and Marvel return inside the Cornucopia, the girl from District 1 grumbles and starts checking on the tributes lying on the ground, stabbing them with an axe through the chest to make sure they are all dead.

The dark haired girl waits for me as I come down.

Warily, anxious to give her my back even for a second, and yet knowing that I have to, I climb down the Cornucopia and walk towards her. The knife I fought Umi for is in my one hand, the one she shot at me is in the other.

She extends her hand out to me, smirking. I give her the knife back, all my hunter instincts telling me I shouldn’t, and yet I do. It's the alliance code I took advantage of before, and now she is returning the favor. She pockets the knife swiftly, the other one she had in her hand disappears up her sleeve.

"I'm Clove." She says. "That in there is Cato, Marvel, and Glimmer." she says, pointing to each of them accordingly.

"I'm Gale," I say.

Clove rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. You're 12 to me. Anyways, the rules are simple. If you want some weapon of object specifically, you claim it. Say mine or something, just make sure everybody knows its yours in some way. No fights, no disputes. If something is yours, its yours. Food belongs to everyone, but everything else is up for grabs."

I look at the bow in Glimmer's hand and realize with a heavy heart that it's a lost cause.

I join Clove and walk into the Cornucopia. Cato doesn't even spare me a glance. Now that I am no longer an enemy, I'm inconsequential. Marvel looks at me, studies me. Glimmer follows Clove and I as well, and we all gather around a table with fruit on it.

"Right," says Cato, "We have to make base somewhere. I'd suggest we stay here, but even though there are a couple of water bottles, we need more than that for somewhere more permanent. I suggest we all take what we need, grab up some food and go look for a river or a lake or something. We burn everything else, so no one can come back and use the stuff."

Before I can think about it too much, I step up.

"I saw a lake, maybe 30 minutes away from here."

 

My plan is to stick with them until we enter the woods, then find some way to get away. Hopefully I can take out Glimmer, steal the bow, and then scram. And yet… They all look at me again, and I clear my face of emotions. Cato smirks, Clove says, "You're trying too hard 12", Marvel laughs and I realize suddenly that I'm not in danger anymore. I'm in the group, I'm one of them. I realize that it would be bad TV for them to turn on me now after making the alliance, so I'm relatively safe for the moment. Of course, we are in the Hunger Games, and Career Tributes or not, there are no safety nets here.

We make preparations to leave.

It takes a while until everything in the Cornucopia is accounted for and an inventory is made. There are enough packs for everyone, a lot of incredibly useful stuff. I claim most of the medical stuff, and we have to choose what to take and what to leave.

The kid from District 3 appears in the doorway of the Cornucopia as we all prepare to head out, covered in dirt and with a contraption in his hand that I realize with dread must be the bomb underneath one of the platforms.

The rest of the group realizes what it is too.

We're in a closed space right now; we've all seen what one of those things can do before.

"I want to make a deal, too" says the boy from 3, "Or we all die right now".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote if from the poem Howl, by Allen Ginsberg.  
> Umi is named that way because I was listening to Mos Def. He's got a song called 'Umi says', and I liked.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

8-. Under everything, just another human being

* * *

 

Everyone stays still, looking at the boy. He's got the bomb in his hand, extended towards us, clenching it lightly. A red light is on.

"There's no way that's armed" says Clove, but her voice sounds uncertain.

The boy lifts one eyebrow and tilts his head.

"I don't know how up to date you guys are on victors from my District…" A patch on his arm clearly marks his district as '3';"…but my mentor's name is Beetee. He won his games by electrocuting all remaining contestants. Back home, I work in the electrical plants, I make electrical connections for the infrastructure all around Panem. Arming this bomb was easy. It's set off by pressure. If I release my hold on it, we all explode."

Everyone is tense. There is nothing,  _nothing_  any one of us can do to stop him if he decides to kills us all.

For a moment, I wonder about the outcome if he does. It would be suicide, but he'd take out 5 of the most promising prospects in one move, destroy Capitol expectations and give one of the other districts a chance of winning. It would be a huge fuck you to the Game-makers, the President, and the system.

But I hope he doesn't set it off, because I want to live. By the looks of it, he does too.

Cato speaks. His voice is calmer than Clove's, it's obvious to anyone by now that he is the leader of the Careers.

"What's your offer? How do  _you_  make sure we don't kill you the moment we're sure that bomb won't explode, and how do we know that the moment we let you into our alliance you won't blow us up the second you're far enough away from us to clear the blast?"

The kid -he's short, his skin is lighter than mine but darker than the other's in the group- takes a deep breath and nods.

"As I said, I want to form an alliance with you. I know I don't look like much, and in a fight I am probably useless to you. But I can arm all the bombs around the platforms. I can use them as weapons, or I could burry them around the supplies, make sure that no one can steal your stuff…" He stops, hesitates. "As for trust…"

It's a loaded question. Cato means it, how do we trust one another? but its more than that. The games are life and death for all of us here in the arena, but this is television for the Capitol. Everything we do, at least those of us who have the possibility of sponsors, is to look good for them.

If the District 3 boy plans to survive, that means he's playing to that invisible viewers as much as he's trying to convince us.

"As for trust", he starts again, "You can trust that I don't want to die. I have a better chance doing that if I stay with you than I do out in the arena. I don't know how to get food, I don't know how to fight. And I'll trust your word if you say you won't try to kill me until the final 10. I've counted the bodies outside, that means there are 9 tributes still hiding before you'd have to get to me, and you loose nothing waiting."

After he finishes speaking, we stay silent for a while, thinking about what he said, though I imagine we are all thinking the same thing. Marvel verbalizes it.

"It's not like we have any other choice but to trust each other, or, like you said, we all die."

"I can promise to wait to the final 10, and not kill you while you sleep", offers Glimmer.

"I can promise to wait as well", says Cato, and turns to look at Clove.

She's glaring at the boy, but she nods, and hisses, "I promise you'll have a head start when I decide its time for you to die... and I promise it  _won't matter_." A shiver goes up my spine. This girl is terrifying.

The District 3 boy shakes, but says nothing. They turn to look at me, and once again I'm shocked to be considered one of them. It wasn't even half an hour ago when I wasn't.

"I promise", is all I say.

Tense, we all wait as the boy nods, and then, hesitantly, says,

"I'm going to need someone's help to disarm the bomb."

Awkwardly, the career's look at each other. Glimmer speaks up, looking at me.

"12 you go, you said you where good with traps."

I don't argue. The Career's all step back, but I know that if the bomb does explode it doesn't matter if you are right besides the blast or a little farther away.

I step up to the boy and trust, as he said, that he wants to live, and that if he doesn't disarm the bomb properly, he dies as well. It doesn't take long, my job basically amounts to holding the bomb compressed while the kid frees both his hands to move around the wires. The red light turns off.

"My name's Ian", he says

"Gale" I respond.

As he works, I explain the rule they just taught me, about claiming things. Mostly everything is claimed already, but Ian doesn't complain. When he tells me its done, that I can stop clenching my hand, we all hold our breaths. As I slowly open my hand, A flash of fear goes through me.

Nothing happens.

Thankfully.

We all breathe out. Marvel even laughs a little, shakily. We stand around a minute longer, unsure of how to proceed, then Cato shoulders his bag again, and says authoritatively,

"All right, lets move out".

With Ian's new offer, we do several trips, moving everything towards the lake, which is actually closer than what I'd judged, and leave nothing behind to burn. The sky begins to change color as we make the last trip, and Ian haltingly explains to Marvel and me that it will take him a couple of days to un-burry all of the bombs, arm them once more, and burry them again, since he doesn't want to set them off, and doesn't have a shovel.

"Whatever" says Marvel.

We build a fire out of broken branches we bring back from the woods and kerosene from the Cornucopia, and set up sleeping bags around the fire. We make a sort of circle around it. Closest to the lake is Clove, then Cato, who has the only tent among us, then Glimmer, then Marvel, then me and Ian. As the The Panem Anthem starts up, we start shifting through the food and picking out dinner.

It seems obvious to us all to eat the perishable foods first, as those will go bad within a day or two, and to leave the canned and instantaneous food for later. I pick out a sandwich and a casserole with some baked potatoes to eat. We stare up at the faces of the tributes who have died the first day.

When it's done, I think that's the end of it, and that we'll try to sleep. It's around 7, I think, much earlier than my usual bedtime, but its been a long day, and I do want to rest, if I can.

But apparently my allies don't feel the same.

"I'm restless", declares Cato, and stands up. "I'm too hyped up to sleep. Let's go hunt."

Glimmer jumps up and smiles at him. "Worst thing that could happen is we  _don't_  get to kill someone! Lets go!".

So it's decided. Despite not wanting to, I stand up, grab my night-goggles, probably one of my best claims, and my knife, ready to go. I can't seem weak to them, not ever, or unwilling to do what has to be done.

Glimmer grabs the bow and an axe, Marvel a couple of spears. I can tell that some of them are made for throwing, some for close combat.

There is a second when the careers all stare at Ian, unsure. Ian grabs a sickle, one of the only weapons he managed to secure for himself, still sitting by the fire, and says,

"I'll keep watch" in a small voice. We have no choice but to trust in him.

Cato goes up to him and grabs him by the shirt, pulling him up.

"If you betray us now, 3, I promise we will find you, and you will  _suffer_." Ian whimpers, but nods.

Without a second look, Cato drops him and heads off.

"Clove! You were in charge of keeping track of the tributes, which way?"

And with that, we head out. We track through the woods for about an hour. Its odd for me. Traveling in a pack makes me feel more secure than hunting alone, but though they are not talking too much, their boots crunch to loudly for me, they trip over stuff and it sets me on edge.

"If we don't find someone before midnight we call it a night" says Clove, bored. We all agree, but it's not long before we find a girl who has stupidly lit a fire. Cato kills her, but everyone's energy seems to run low and we return to camp. As we reach the edge of the woods, the canon sounds, signifying that the girl had not died immediately, but most probably bled out. The careers tease Cato for not finishing the job right, but I stay quiet. Once back at the camp, we set watch turns, 2 hours each. My watch is last, 5 to 7, so I try and sleep.

It's an odd night. I'm always acutely aware of my surroundings, but so tired, emotionally at least, that I do drift off, in and out of dreams of the next day. Glimmer wakes me up, and nodding, I get up.

That next day passes uneventfully.

We set down a schedule. In the morning, we draw straws to see who goes out hunting, who stays watch over the supplies and Ian. Glimmer draws the short straw, so Cato, Marvel, Clove and I go out looking for tributes. After lunch, when we come back to eat, I stay, and the Careers head back out. I spend the time eating, sorting through my supplies and deciding on how to trap my sleeping bag.

Though we are all in a loose circle around the fire, our bags are several meters away from one another, and so 'my' camping space is around a square meter in diameter. I got quite a couple of useful things at the Cornucopia- the night goggles, extra weapons, most importantly, almost all of the medical supplies. I have this half formed plan in my head to keep all of the medicine, injure all the careers, run away, wait for the infection to kill them off… It won't work out.

More realistically though, I think that if Glimmer did get injured in some way, I can offer to trade her the medicine for the bow. Depending on how late in the game it is, and how injured she is… It could happen. But I won't bet on it yet. For now the bow is hers, and I have to make my peace with that.

A little before dusk our allies come back. I've heard no canons, so it means they've found no tributes. Something seems to have happened on their trip as well, because there's a tension around them that wasn't there before.

I watch them all, coiling a wire loosely around my fingers, unsure of what to do with it just yet.

Cato and Clove are arguing on the other side of the fire. Glimmer is close to them, an odd smile, one that doesn't express happiness as much as satisfaction on her face while she watches them. Marvel heads away from them and sits on his sleeping bag, eating alone while he organizes everything he's hoarded from the Cornucopia into neat piles. He's got most of the spears, a lot of other weapons and a variety of nick-nacks he's still trying to figure out and see what to do with.

Ian sits far from all of us- he must be cold, he only managed to claim one blanket, and his sleeping bag is the flimsiest of us all. Around him he's got 3 of the bombs he's already rigged out from the platforms, a pick he found at the Cornucopia and a slab of plastic he uses for digging. I almost admire this kid. He's jumpier than a rabbit, and his alliance with the career tributes is even more tenuous than my own, though far more brilliant. His token seems to be a small wretch-like keychain, and its what he's using to work on the 4th bomb. He's got a carton of milk besides him and a piece of cake, which he's not eating.

Glimmer is washing her hair with some sort of shampoo thing she claimed from the Cornucopia and a bucket of water as she watches Clove and Cato argue. She's stripped off her jacket and shirt, and only has on a sports-bra. Weapons wise, she has a couple of knives and axes besides the bow and arrow, a pillow, many blankets, and other things around her.

As for the District 2 tributes...

Already Cato has had a parachute come down for him. A full meal for tonight: hot soup, chicken and rice, a piece of chocolate cake- while we watched the recap, which amounted to the anthem and that had died yesterday. I imagine the meal is a show of strength from his team. 'Look at Cato' it says. 'He has so many sponsors we can waste money on food he doesn't even need.'

I notice that Cato seems to have won the argument with his district teammate. Clove looks furious- she spits out something, and look around. Her eyes land on me. She stares at me a while, and not one to be intimidated I stare back. She turns her head back to Cato, who shrugs and walks over to Glimmer, glaring at him. Then she takes her bag, previously situated by her district partners, and stomps her way over to me. I tense up.

She stops outside of my designated space and throws her stuff down. I stare at her suspiciously, as she treks back and forth from her previous spot to her new one. Eventually she sits down, her arms crossed, seething.

Glaring at me, she hisses out, "Hey 12, doing anything interesting?"

I stare at her, then down at the wire in my hands.

"Yes" I say, and actually start to make a spring trap.

She begins organizing the things around her, starting with her sleeping bag and then with her backpack.

"Yeah? What" she says.

My mouth runs off before I can even think about what I'm saying, or who I'm saying it to.

"Secret weapon to stop you from murdering me in the night."

She stops what she's doing and snorts in laughter, the frown on her face disappearing momentarily.

"Trust me 12, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." she says.

I glare at her, think in for a penny, in for a pound, and reply heatedly.

"You already tried to kill me once 2, and you failed."

She makes a weird face, then snorts. "Please! that knife I threw at you in the Bloodbath? That wasn't serious at all. If you wanna play, you just have to say so and I  _promise_  you'll come out loosing." She smiles at me again, a smile that shows off her teeth, real amusement in her eyes.

With a cold shiver, I realize she's right, and continue on with my wire.

Before going to sleep I notice Glimmer pick up her sleeping bag, wink at Clove who snarls, blow her a kiss and then follow Cato into his tent.

The next day passes without any kills once more, and come nighttime, Clove begins talking to me again.

"Tell me about 12" she says.

I stare at her, thinking she's crazy- well, she demonstrated that she obviously is at the Cornucopia, but I just assumed her type of crazy didn't include talk with me.

" _Why_?" I say, and she shrugs, taking all of her knives out, arranging them in front of her, measuring them by length before putting them away again. I count more than 30.

"Because. I'm curious. Tell me something and I'll tell you something. Like 20 questions."

I stare at her, trying to figure out what it is that she wants from me. But her face just looks at me expectantly, not betraying any hidden motives at all. She's the youngest of all of us here, and also the smallest. If she wasn't so vicious, she'd seem the weakest. Yet in that moment she doesn't look vicious, she doesn't feel it. I remember that she's just 15, younger than Katniss.

"Start with a question then" I tell her.

"The coal mines," she says, and I tense a little, "that's what always stands out about 12… Its always 7- wood, 4-fish, 12- coal. What's that like?"

At first, talking is awkward. I tell her the basics, what you learn in school early on. How deep you have to go to mine coal, the tunnels, the machines. Talking about the mines will never be easy for me, not only because my father died there, but because had I not volunteered for the Hunger Games, I'd already be training to be a miner myself. But her expression is so openly curious, I begin to realize something important.

"Now you tell me about 2, what's training like?" I ask her, and she answers, like me, at first hesitant, but then looking at me, and seeing that I am genuinely curious, and want to know, with more conviction and confidence.

I imagine Clove began this conversation because she was still feeling angry at Cato. He and Glimmer are once again sharing a tent tonight, and we can hear giggling and shuffling from inside their tent. But I also realize Clove must be feeling lonely.

"I don't know how it works in 1, but in 2 we go to an Academy. You go in when you turn 10, and you live there and train there until you turn 18. It prepares us for our future jobs as peacekeepers, and you know, conveniently for the Hunger Games as well. The best 13 students from each class get to choose their district, including the Capitol and 2. The rest get assigned were to go."

I ask her the next question without thinking much.

"Where you a good student?"

Clove's face is expressive. Her eyes shine when she gets exited, and though I can tell her cruel, mean smile is a fabrication, a persona she created for the cameras, looking at her now I can tell she is genuinely exited about this conversation.

"I was the  _best_! And I wanted to go to 4. Ever since I was little I've dreamed of seeing the ocean. Can you imagine? The waves, and the breeze, and it never gets too cold, and water as far as the eyes can see? I'm sure I would have loved it. What about you? where you a good student?"

As I talk, telling her about how I had to drop out of school 4 years ago to begin taking care of my family full-time, I begin to relax. It's not only that I'm actually having fun with this conversation... Marvel is snoring, deeply asleep, as is Ian, though in a quieter way. Cato and Glimmer are busy and even though this conversation in television  _gold_...its also unusable.

Clove and I are talking about things that are taboo. The districts can't know too much about how the other Districts work. Like Clove said, I know that 1 produces diamonds, 2 peacekeepers, 3 electricity... but I don't know much else about them. I don't even know where they are, they never showed us a map in school of the distribution of Panem, not a real one... only a chart with the Capitol at the center and the districts from 1 to 12 going clockwise around it. But I know that can't be true, because then 4 wouldn't be close to the ocean, and they produce fish, and 12 would be north, were its winter most of the year, and no mountains. That doesn't make sense.

Panem keeps all the Districts isolated from one another so we never know how they work, and can never rebel in a joint manner. A conversation like the one Clove and I are having has too much dangerous information. So even though the camera's might be looking at us, they have to be on mute. We are actually having a private conversation, despite being in the most public place in the entire country.

The night wears on.

Clove is on first watch, and we talk about everything and anything. We make fun of Marvel's snoring, Clove vents about Glimmer, we talk about our families. Clove is an only child, or so she thinks. She hasn't seen her parents since she entered the Academy, and they were relatively young when they had her, they could have had a second child. I tell her about the Seam, about how 12 is not only the poorest district but about how it's divided between merchants and the Seam, the poorest of the poor, about how my house is the same house my grandparents lived in, and how we all share what we have because there isn't much to go around, and solidarity is the best way of surviving. I never mention Katniss, though I want to. Just because the viewers can't hear us, doesn't mean the Gamemakers aren't. Clove has begun to remind me of Catnip, though they are almost nothing alike.

Close to midnight, and the end of her watch and the beginning of Ian's I ask,

"How come you decided to use knives?"

She shrugs, and in one movement takes out a knife and throws it at my feet so fast I only see her hand blur and then hear the thunk besides my boot. I stare at it, in my mind reminded of what she said a moment ago. _If I wanted you dead, you'd_ be _dead._

"I'm small" she says, unaware of my thoughts,

"And I know I won't grow much bigger, so I wanted a weapon that could give me some range on an opponent that is, say, your size. And you can do a lot of fun things with knives up close and personal. They are very versatile."

She's grinning, no longer her fake smile, this one is a real one, and I feel a cold shiver up my spine. I'd forgotten for a moment that Clove is, well, psychotic. And as dangerous, if not more so, than Cato. I'd forgotten that she was more than a fifteen year old girl. She’s a Career Tribute, and there is a very real possibility that I will kill her, or that she will kill me.

Awkwardly I pretend to yawn.

"This has been fun Clove," I say, "But I think I'm going to try and rest before it's time for my watch. Good Night."

Clove stands up and stretches.

"Yeah, you do that. Tomorrow we have to be in top shape. If we don't kill someone I'm going to be  _pissed_. Good night, Gale"

I turn away from her and try to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from one of my all time favorite songs, Just Breathe by Pearl Jam.  
> Ian is the name of the actor that plays the District 3 tribute, so for lack of anything better, I named him that.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

9-. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

* * *

 

The afternoon of the next day, still without sight of any tributes, things begin to get really tense. We've all packed up more food and supplies in our bags than the previous days, and have left Ian alone at camp. It's obvious that the remaining tributes have tried to get as far away as they can from the Cornucopia, and therefore from us- and that we will find no one if we stick to the same area day after day.

Additionally, everyone knows that if no one dies soon, the Game-Makers will take matters into their own hands, and then everyone, including us, is in real danger.

It's the reason why I actively begin hunting other tributes, and not following my allies blindly as I have for the last couple of days. I am scared, no,  _terrified_  of the Game-Makers, and I don't want to see what horrors they could be throwing at us if we don't live up to their expectations.

Glimmer says she thinks she knows which way to go, so we follow her, since her guess is as good as anyone else's. But I lag behind, going in different directions, looking for actual clues as to where someone might be hiding. More than once Clove calls to me to catch up. Sometimes she calls for '12', but she slips up and says my name a few times as well. Finally, I think I see something that will be useful to us.

"Guys, stop. We're heading in the wrong direction."

They do, and Glimmer, who had been leading the way, looks at me strangely.

"What's up 12," says Cato

"I've been looking at the trees. The tree's going that way," I say as I point east according to the sun, "Those have sole-marks. And you can tell by the broken branches that someone tried to climb them. Not a very good climber, he or she had to try a couple different trees before finding one easy enough to climb. I think they tried sleeping there."

Cato's eyes widen suddenly, looking at me in a new light.

" _Mister_  Tracker!" says Marvel, exited. "Lead the way!"

So I do.

It's odd, 'hunting' with this group. So unlike hunting with Catnip. There is no easy companionship, no silence. They talk a lot, interrupt my concentration, ask questions. Every time I change directions they ask why. If I tell them to be quiet for a moment, they huff about it. They move different, heavier, and with no worries about being seen.

Hours pass, and the sky is getting dark. We are still hours away from the tribute I've been tracking down. I have his trail now, but it's difficult to follow. The frustration in the careers is obvious, as is the conflict. Do we let this one get away for now and go back to camp? Or do we stay out in the woods and leave camp unguarded by no one other than Ian, basically inviting anyone to go steal the provisions while we are away.

Eventually Cato calls for a stop.

"Alright everyone, lets vote" he says. "So it looks like 12 actually knows what he's doing, and is not leading us on. So, do we stick with this? or head back?"

"I say we stick with this" says Marvel. "It will be a day wasted otherwise, and who knows how long it will take until we find someone else."

"I think so too" says Cato, looking at the girls. "It will be more difficult to go on at night, only 12 and I have the night-vision goggles, but we can't let this chance slip by us.

"But we can't leave camp unguarded like this" says Clove, and we all nod. Even I don't trust Ian not to bail and leave all our stuff unprotected. This is a good chance for him to run off, and the reason these games are called 'Hunger Games' and not 'Killing Games' is because the biggest risk for tributes tends to be starvation. If someone steals our food, that gives them a advantage and takes one away from us.

"We don't…" I start, and they all look at me, "We don't all have to continue on. This tribute is alone, I can tell that much, and I don't think it will take the five of us to take him or her down. Someone should head back."

"It obviously can't be you", says Marvel, looking at me. The way he says it is strange, so we al turn towards him. Marvel is a little awkward when speaking, and he doesn't like it when everyone is staring at him, so he looks at his feet as he continues talking.

"Well, I mean 12 is tracking him, so he has to stay. And I think Cato should stay as well for sure, he's our best fighter, in case the person we are following is that huge guy from 11… And well, I think either Glimmer or I should stay as well, since we have the long range weapons…"

He trails off, and we all turn to look at Clove.

What he says is true, and in this situation, her skill-set is the least necessary. Surprisingly, she doesn't get angry.

"No problem, I'll head back then, and make sure to keep an eye on both our stuff and on 3. Take as long as you need, only, if you guys come back empty handed  _there will be repercussions_."

Before heading back, a parachute falls for her.

Inside is a compass. She takes a flashlight, blows us a kiss, waves the compass at us gloatingly, and starts back the way we came from. It will take her at least until midnight to get back to camp. We, on the other hand, have no idea how long we'll be away.

We continue on for another hour before settling down for the night, deciding it will be best to try and sleep for a while. We eat the food we brought with us- mostly fruits and chips, and watch the Panem anthem in silence before dozing off to sleep.

On the second day of tracking down the tribute, which would be our 4th in the arena, Marvel comes up to me to talk. Cato and Glimmer are behind us, behaving annoyingly and loudly. Mostly its just Glimmer that annoys me, her voice is loud and she giggles and moves too much for my liking. They are ridiculous, and I know half of their romance is for show, so I try to ignore them for the most part. But it's difficult to concentrate and  _track_  when half my mind is trying not to snap at her, and I know this is taking longer than it would if I where alone.

Then Marvel comes over.

I haven't had much interaction with him so far, he's a bit odd, a year younger than me, always hunched, not very talkative, and always sharpening his weapons. He seems very capable for the Hunger Games, but I don't imagine him having had much friends back home.

"So, you and Clove," he says, "Is that a thing? Like a Cato and Glimmer thing?"

He nodes his head backwards and I catch a glimpse of the two Careers behind us frenching quite loudly and so almost stumble with a root in my path, and my thoughts draw to a standstill.

Wait.  _What?_ No. No no  _no_.

Marvel continues on, slinging a hand around my shoulder, and it feels weird, makes me need to hunch forward and him to have to walk awkwardly. I shrug off his arm in a quick gesture, and I can see conflict in Marvel's face. Embarrassment, rejection... but then he masks it behind cocky arrogance again and grins at me.

"'Cause you know, you guys seemed seriously chummy last night, and if you and Clove start getting your nasty on… that's going to leave me all alone, man" He makes a mock sad face at me, then grins again, a little falteringly in that I haven't stopped staring at him like a weird bug since this conversation began.

He's trying to be funny, I know, but I don't quite get where this joke is going.

"You're all going to leave me with no choice but to start shaking up with 3 when we get back!" He laughs fakely, and stares at me, in that weird, searching way of his. I don't know if he's joking or being serious, or what it is, exactly, that he wants from me. On the other hand, I don't want him, the other careers, or the Capitol viewers to get the wrong idea about me and Clove, so I go with that.

"You don't have to worry... Marvel," I say, after a moment of consideration, "Clove and I are not a thing. I have no intention of us being a thing. We're in the Hunger Games, there are more important things to do." Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a black something in our path, and when Marvel and I get closer, I bend down and pick it up. Its a piece of clothes that belongs to the tribute we're tracking. I smile up at the Career, surprisingly exited to have something physical to reward my work for the past day and a half.

"Like catching this guy, for example."

Marvel's face has gone a little red from embarrassment and something more as I talked. He's a difficult guy to read, so instead, I turn back and wave over the other two. We're getting close now, so have to start being quieter and more alert.

I show them the black cloth and tell them this, and Cato smiles at me sharply, taking out his sword in a swift movement and holding it out, ready. Glimmer takes out an arrow and holds the bow in her hand, making a high pitched giggling sound that makes me wince. Marvel takes his spear off his back and into his hand, throws it up in the air and catches it, smiling oddly at me again.

I stand up and get ready with a knife as well, just in case, though with all these bloodthirsty careers I have no intention of being the one to kill the poor sap we are following.

We start off at a brisker pace than before, silent, focused. I point out to them places where the tribute has stopped to rest, and they seem to be getting more often. I imagine he's been traveling all morning without stopping, and the forrest ground has a slight, not to noticeable inclination, which will make him tired, faster.

About an hour later we catch up. Glimmer sees him first, crouched behind a bush of thick plants that I don't recognise, up above on a ledge created by an enormous tree trunk thats fallen down. She lets out a shrill scream that puts me on edge and points him out excitedly.

"There he is! There he is!" she says.

The boy wastes no time, and takes off in a sprint the second Glimmer calls out.

We waste a couple of minutes getting over the enormous fallen tree, and follow after him. I have to say, the boy is fast, and apparently familiar with uneven ground.

He's smaller than all of us, and uses it to his advantage, weaving between closely knit trees and stepping in places that bigger feet could get tangled in. We follow him into a valley, and I notice he's heading towards a cliff. It seems pretty deep, and the only thing connecting one side to the other is a thin eucalyptus trunk, half rotten and very unstable.

We all realize what he's trying to do the second he breaks out of the woods, and stop short. Marvel's to my left, Glimmer to my right, and Cato a little bit in front of all of us.

Cato yells out "Marvel! Now!"

The district 1 boy takes his spear, a couple of steps forwards and throws it with ridiculous precision towards the running tribute.

Unfortunately, the boy looks back at exactly the moment that Cato yells out, and with a yelp goes into a dive and the spear misses by an inch.

By now he's reached the trunk and is slowly crawling over it. I can hear the thing groan, but hold under his weight.

It wouldn't hold for a second under any one of us, not even Glimmer. Cato curses, then yells again.

"Glimmer! Shoot him! Now!"

She jumps a little, and takes the stance they taught in the training center. She pulls the arrow, takes a breath, and lets it fly. The arrow shoots too far, about a meter to the right of both the tree and tribute, tumbling down the crease.

She curses silently, and draws another arrow.

"Shit! Again!" yells out Cato, a crazy look in his eyes.

I understand.

We've been tracking this boy for two days straight now, and if he gets over that ridge, he's lost to us until we find another way of crossing. That could take days, and Cato is not a patient guy. Glimmer lets her second arrow fly and this one falls short of the boy again. She draws a third arrow, and I can see her hands trembling a little. By now the boy is almost at the other side.

Screw it, she's never going to get him.

I run up to her, grab the bow and arrow she just took out the quiver from her hands, and she yelps, more surprised than outraged.

I run all the way to the edge of the cliff, then get into position. I draw the bow, string the arrow, and wait.

I try to shut out Glimmer shouting at Cato to make me give her back the bow, and whatever Cato says back at her, instead focusing on the boy crawling over the trunk.

I've got one arrow, so one shot.

The second he stands up on the other side, he makes the mistake of half turning back to us, a small smile on his face, thinking he escaped.

I let the arrow fly.

It takes him in the kidney, and he cries out in pain, stumbles, and falls sideways. Stumbling over the cliff. He lets out a pained and terrified scream, and falls.

I close my eyes and lower the bow.

Count.

1, 2, 3, 4.

The cannon sounds the second he hits the ground.

I stand immobile for a moment, and Cato comes up to me. He pats my shoulder in thanks, then inches forward, towards the ledge to see what is left of the boy.

I don't want to see.

Cato lets out a whistle, then a laugh.

"Damn that looks  _nasty_. Good job Gale." He turns around and smiles.

It's the first time he's called me by my first name, and not '12'. Behind me, Glimmer stomps over, furious and ashamed at the same time.

"Give me back  _my_  bow" She says, eyes narrowed and body ready for a fight.

I clench the bow in my hand.

If there was ever a time to make a case for why I should get the weapon, its  _now_. I want it, I'm actually good with it, and she's not.

I breathe out and try to control my anger. Hold the weapon out to her. She snaches it back, then doesn't seem to be sure what to do with it. I turn around and ignore her, going back to where Marvel is standing.

He smiles at me awkwardly as well and holds out his hand, as if unsure if he should pat my shoulder like Cato or shake my hand.

In the end he just puts his hands into his pockets.

"Good job Gale" he says, following Cato's lead.

I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

Seems like I ended up killing the boy anyways.

When we arrive back to camp, its nighttime, after the Capitol anthem, when we discovered that the tribute I just killed was the District 6 boy. Clove is sitting by the fire, playing some sort of game with a ribbon in her hands, moving her fingers this way and that to make shapes. Ian is sitting on his sleeping bag, as far away from Clove as he can get whilst still in proximity to the flame. He's eating a piece of a cooked meal- seems like one of these only boil in water type of things, staring into the fire contemplatively.

Clove sees us and lets out an elated yell.

"I heard the cannon! Who killed him, then?" She runs up, pocketing the ribbon in a flash and with a smile on her face. Cato comes up besides me and slings an arm around my shoulders, bringing my head down with the strength of his embrace.

It scares me, sometimes, how easily and unconsciously he can display his strength.

"Gale did it! The little freak from 6 almost gave us the slip, acting like a worm and crawling around like one. But still, victory is ours!"

They laugh. Cato and Clove and even Marvel, but Glimmer makes an angry face and shoves me as she goes towards her and Cato's tent.

"Out of the way  _12._ " She says, as if that where a means to insult me. It's not. I don't care about her opinion and being from District 12 doesn't make me feel inferior in any way. Instead I just roll my eyes.

Clove looks at me questioningly, but its Marvel who answers.

"She's angry because Gale got the boy with her bow in one shot, and it took her two arrows and she didn't even graze him." He bumps me in what I guess he thinks is a friendly manner, then goes over to Ian.

I stare after him as he squats besides the other boy, who looks a little shocked at being interacted with directly, and asks if he has any more of the food he's eating.

Cato takes his arm off from around my shoulder and stretches.

"She can be a bit of a diva," he says, "But I bet her being frisky is even better than her usual" He wags his eyebrows at us and saunters over to Glimmer, who has also taken some food from the hoard and is gnawing on a piece of beef jerky angrily.

I turn back to Clove and see that once again, she's making a disgusted face at Cato's back. I wonder what it is, exactly, that she disproves off so much between them. Then she turns towards me and punches me lightly, a smirk on her face.

"Whatever. Forget about bitch-face for a while. Lets go get something to eat and you tell me aaaall the details."

I follow her, feeling slightly queasy. First of all, and unlike the careers, I don't enjoy killing. I took down the girl from 4 at the Cornucopia because it was either me or her. And I took down the boy from 6 because if I want to live he had to die. Its not personal, and I don't enjoy it. Just… necessary.

Secondly, as I watch Marvel eating besides Ian, still a bit hunched and still generally weird, I remember our conversation.

I don't want Clove and me to be a 'thing'. And I told him that, but I wonder if she's getting the wrong idea. If she wants a 'thing' just to spite Cato.

Clove gets us two cans of beans and jerky, and we go eat them on our sleeping bags.

This Capitol canned food is a mix between very bad and oddly addicting. Its chemically made to give you more energy, and tastes like it. Only the taste is so weird that its actually good.

We eat in silence, me because I realise I'm actually pretty hungry after hiking back here all day, and Clove because she doesn't like to eat and speak at the same time. She finishes first, and ignores that I'm still eating before starting.

"So, killing 6 boy. How was that."

I make a face into the gruel I'm eating, almost finished anyways and figure out a way of responding without actually responding. Saying it was incredible or fun or anything will probably get me more sponsors. But I don't like lying any more than I have to.

Instead, I ignore her question and ask what’s been troubling me since my conversation with Marvel.

I like Clove more than the other careers, despite the fact that she is apparently insane and that liking anyone here is, in general, bad.

"Clove, what do you want from me?"

She looks at me as if I'm crazy, and takes the ribbon she had before- its red, and starts to play with it again.

"Uhh… for you to tell me about 6? I wasn't there, and I hate missing out on fun-"

"No no," I interrupt her, "I mean, why did you come over here on the first night anyways? What do you want from me? Because I'm not Cato, and I don't want a… thing. With you" I gesture over to the District 2 boy, who is nuzzling into Glimmers neck, and playing with her breasts. They really have no decency, at all.

Then I close my eyes and curse myself. A 'thing'. It sounded ridiculous when Marvel said it, and sounds even more ridiculous when I say it. But what else could I say? a physical relationship? That doesn't sound right either. 'relationship' in general sounds odd in the Hunger Games, and hook-up sounds vulgar as well.

Clove groans and smacks my head.

"What the  _hell_  gave you that idea? I mean,  _ew_. This is the Hunger Games you now?" She looks at me with a wrinkled nose. And I relax, immediately. She's not that good an actress to fake this.

"Not  _everyone_  is in love with you Gale." she says.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Marvel glance in our direction, but for now I ignore everyone but Clove. A relieved, tiny smile comes to my lips unwillingly and I laugh at her tone and her words. She changes from disgusted to playful in a second, shoving my shoulder again and grinning.

"I mean, I'm sure back in 12 people looovee this dirt-caked, brooding thing you got going on- I mean, come on we're camping right besides a lake and I've only seen you take a bath once! I bet those Seam girls - thats how you say it right?, are crazy for your 'look at meeee I live in the mud and the forrest and twigs look great on me!' look but that doesn't do it for me you know?" She waves her arms around and makes faces as she says it, and I can't help but snort in laughter. Once I do she smiles back at me, normal again.

"Besides," she says casually, "I've got a guy back home"

That makes me start. Sometimes I really do forget that careers have lives apart from training for the Hunger Games. They are not emotionless killing robots, as much as I'd like them to be.

Clove glares back to where Cato and Glimmer are, only to discover that they are heading towards the lake, hand in hand and Glimmer giggling as she takes off her shirt. Stupidly, I ask the first thing that pops into my head.

"It's not Cato is it?"

Clove's head snaps back towards me, with wide, horrified eyes.

" _What?_ You idiot. I said back  _home_  stupid. And do you really think I wouldn't have killed Glimmer already if that was the case?"

I feel my ears go a little red in embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry, stupid question."

Clove tosses her hair back haughtily.

"Please, Cato's like you, thinking the entire world worships him. I'm sorry, I just don't go for huge guys. I'm a delicate girl, I need someone normal." She smiles a bit to let me know she's joking, and it takes a while for me to process the insult.

Well, the multiple insults.

"I do not think the entire world worships me! And  _normal_? What the hell? You mean pint-sized!" I say indignantly, and she takes a look at my outraged face and bursts out laughing. When she composes herself, she just smiles down at her ribbon, weaving it around her fingers and making a shape with the criss-crossed lace that looks like a flower, then with a flick of her wrist it falls loosely back into nothing.

"He give you that?" I ask curiously, and she smiles happily.

"Yeah, I'm really good at cat's craddle, and it helps when I'm bored, which is often back in school, so Rob, his name is Rob, gave it to me as a present. String is actually better, but finding some on short notice was a bit difficult I guess."

She shrugs and tucks the ribbon back into her jacket pocket, then looks at me.

"What about you?"

I wonder if she's talking about someone back home, and Katniss flashes through my mind, or tokens. I go with the safe option, touching Posy's necklace unconsciously, the transparent beads cool against my fingers. Clove lets an appreciative mmmm sound out, and looks at it.

"My sister gave it to me" is all I say, unwilling to divulge any more information than that.

"No girl back home?" She asks innocently, not letting it go, and I shrug, thinking of Katniss but unwilling to say anything about her, knowing that this might be playing out on the viewing screens. Is probably playing out for Capitol screens. They love human moments, and Glimmer and Cato's antics must have gotten old by now. Whatever Katniss and I have though, its not the Capitol's business. Its no one's business but ours.

Then Clove leans in towards me and breaks into another playful grin and says, "No girls back home that think that fall for your brooding, dirty, 'oh the world is my oyster so come give me loooooove' vibe?” 

I snort in laughter again, the tense atmosphere broken and shove her away. She falls into her sleeping bag, laughing again.

Much later, when the fire is dying out and almost everyone is asleep but Glimmer, who is on watch, and me, who is just staring up at the stars thinking about Catnip, I hear Clove mumble and turn to face towards me.

"Gale?" she whispers, and I turn my head to look at her. Her eyes shine in the dark, and her expression is neither joking nor angry nor sadistic. Instead she looks like what she is, a 15 year old girl, living in an unfamiliar place, unsure whether she's going to be alive or dead by the end of it all. I grunt, to let her know I'm listening.

"I came over the first night because I was angry with Cato. I wanted to show him that I could care less what he does and all that, and because Marvel freaks me out, so I didn't want to get too near him."

We stay quiet for a while, staring at each other. Marvel's asleep, we can hear his snores coming from his spot, across from us and far away but still audible. I snort quietly in laughter.

"What about Ian?" I whisper back, and she rolls her eyes at me, as if I where an idiot. I am, sometimes, but this time I just said it as a joke. Clove doesn't say anything after that, and I feel suddenly very tired and start drifting off to sleep.

She might say "I just wanted a friend here", or I might just be dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Nietzche. It's the second part to the quote I used in the fic's summary (he who fights monsters should be careful lest he become one...)
> 
> This is a short chapter, not so much in length as in plot. They kill one more tribute, but more importantly, more insight on the Careers, and on Gale's thinking patterns.
> 
> Also, in this story, Marvel is either gay or bi, or confused about his sexuality. He's definitely attracted to Gale, or looking for some sort of romantic? experience, but Gale has no interest in romance during the games.
> 
> I do find the idea of hook ups in the games interesting. Here are a bunch of teenagers, most of them know for certain that they will die, most of them haven't done much exploring because of their dystopian like world. I imagine some go into the game thinking fuck it, why not, lets have sex for the first or last time, and some think, no, there are more important things to do.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

10-. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead

* * *

 

In the morning, we run into a forest fire. An enormous, dangerous, difficult to outrun because it's not _natural_ and is throwing _balls of exploding flame at us_ \- forest fire.

 

So we run.

At first we just run away, but then Clove screams, "the river!" and we head in that direction. The fire can't follow us in there.

We reach it, but not without each sustaining a few injuries. Clove is hit on the shoulder by a fireball, Marvel is hit twice- one hits his arm, one his back. I get hit in the thigh, Cato twists his ankle, and miraculously Glimmer is unscathed by the time we throw ourselves into the water.

The river is wide, but thankfully, considering I don't know how to swim, not too deep. It reaches up to my waist, and Clove, the smallest, can still stand with her head and shoulders over the water.

Shocked and tired, we all stay there, watching the forest burn. It's magnificent, in a disastrous kind of way.

Fire- that's what real power looks like.

My burn hurts. Really hurts, and by the moans coming from Marvel and Clove, they are feeling it too.

And then by error, or maybe this was what the Game-Makers were planning all along - we find Mera.

She comes out of the forest, screaming, injured and on fire; into the water, upstream, a visible distance away from us.

She's so preoccupied with her injuries that she doesn't notice us at first, and we stay immobile, shocked, watching her. Then someone in the group reacts, I'm not sure who, and shouting they all start moving upstream, in her direction.

I stay, frozen, looking at her. She stares back for a second, then looks with horrified terror at the careers slowly making their way towards her.

She turns and stumbles towards the riverbank not consumed by flame, wadding, not swimming.

Mera looks gaunt- obviously she hasn't had much food, and injured- at least two of the flaming fireballs have hit her; her leg looks seriously painful and the left part of her face, her eye, cheek and even ear look mangled, red and swollen.

She reaches the other bank at the same time as Marvel, still downstream of her, but much more dangerous on solid ground.

Meera stumbles towards a tree, as the other Career's reach the riverbank. I begin to slowly make my way towards them. Glimmer looks back at me angrily exclaiming "come _on_ 12! We haven't got all day!" before turning back to Mera.

I reach the bank before anyone has moved. They have their weapons in their hands- Clove and her knives, Glimmer with the bow and arrows strapped to her back and an axe in her hand, Marvel with a short spear and Cato with a longer one.

I walk towards them slowly, reluctantly. I told Haymich I didn't care about this girl, I told the careers the same thing…

 

and yet.

 

And yet I do, and I don't. She's 12, she's Seam. I know her name and I know she nibbles on toast and prefers chocolate milk to orange juice, and not much else. But that's enough for me to know that I can't hurt her, not really.

She hunches, whimpering, looking from Career to Career, at their faces and at their weapons. Then she looks past them, at me.

We stare at each other, I don't know how long, though it can't have been long at all. She looks confused and scared and hurt. I wonder how I look. To her. To the viewers.

Then her face changes, from fear to conviction, her gaze sharpens. She doesn't smile, exactly, just makes a kind of helpless, almost tender expression at me.

Then she looks back at the careers, specifically at Marvel, the closest, and letting out a terrified sob, she screams as she stumblingly runs towards him.

He yelps, surprised, and then with an unconscious, practiced move stabs her through the chest.

She chokes, sobbing as she falls to her knees, and then keeling over to her side, the spear going straight through her. She closes her eyes, one of her hands touching the spear, blood coming out of her mouth as she tries to breathe.

The Career's have been surprisingly quiet through it all, and I wonder why.

But then Glimmer snorts and stares sideways at Marvel.

"She's not going quietly is she?"

Marvel looks at her, taken aback.

"She's going to die, don't worry about it, I didn't miss, did I, she just surprised me... I might have pierced a lung and missed her heart."

Glimmer rolls her eyes and then looks back at me, a malicious look in her eyes.

"Well, her whimpering annoys me, I think 12 should finish the job."

They look back at me, Cato's face grimacing in pain because of his foot, Marvel still with an unbelieving expression- and I can't quite make out Clove's expression... but then before I can even begin to process Glimmer's cruel remark- Clove turns back towards Mera and kneels by my district partner. Clove pulls Mera's head up by the hair with one hand and with the other uses a knife to slash her throat open.

The canon sounds.

Glimmer frowns at Clove, but the smaller girl simply stands, gingerly touching her injured shoulder.

"Let's head back," she says, "I need medicine."

We walk back slowly, alert and weapons out, leaning on each other. The sun is out high, so our wet clothes mostly dry off. But the heat makes us sweat, and all of us uncomfortable and ready to get back.

Marvel is in worse shape than any of us, but halfway to the camp he gets a parachute with a small container of some sort of cream that smells strongly of medicine. There's only enough for his two burns, and he makes us stop and won't go on until he applies it to himself, sighing contently at the apparent immediate relief.

After that, he helps me lean on him the rest of the way back. Glimmer is helping Cato, and Clove's injury has nothing to do with walking so she walks in front of us all, unassisted.

We reach camp a couple of hours later, with the sun still high in the sky. I immediately head for my stuff and all the medical supplies I have hoarded away.

A second parachute comes down for Cato, and he grunts out an "about time!" as he opens it to reveal some sort of ointment covered bandage for his ankle.

I know it's no secret that I have most of the medicine, so it would be useless for me to get a parachute even if I have enough sponsors, but I notice Clove doesn't get one either. I shift through my stuff.

I have painkillers, bandages, alcohol, and, yes, a bottle of burn ointment.

I strip out of my pants, wash out the wound with water and alcohol, and apply the ointment. It's obviously not as potent as Marvel's parachute cure, but it helps. I tie up my leg with the bandages, and look at Clove, lying on her sleeping bag, curled up, clutching her arm.

She hasn't asked for anything, but she's obviously in pain.

I remember thinking earlier of keeping the supplies only to myself, letting an injured career get an infected wound and die...but I can't do that anymore. If it where any of the others maybe, but its Clove.

She killed Mera so I wouldn't have to, I realize.

Because we're friends, I think immediately afterwards.

Friends who will eventually be pitted against each other… forced to kill one another…

 

but not today.

 

"Clove," I call out, "come over here, let me help with that."

She grunts, and doesn't move.

I sigh, grab the medical supplies and walk towards her. Clove's eyes are shut, a frown on her face. Her ponytail, usually tight and with not a hair out of place is now loose and messy thanks to our dunk in the river and the humidity drying her hair every which way.

I shove her lightly with my foot.

"I've got something for your burn." I say.

She shuts her eyes tighter, curls up a little more protectively around herself.

"Leave me alone Gale" she mumbles.

I frown.

I haven't known her long, but this seems… strange. More than what her injury warrants, I think.

I sigh, and slowly, so as to not bother my leg much, sit down besides her.

"C'mon Clove," I say, "What's wrong?"

She doesn't acknowledge me for a long while, so I just sit besides her, the medical supplies held loosely in my hands and look around, relaxing.

Marvel has fallen asleep on top of his sleeping bag, Cato is inside his tent, probably resting as well.

Glimmer is bullying Ian.

She's leaning lightly on her axe, a mean look on her face as she towers over the sitting District 3 boy. I can't tell exactly what she's saying, but from knowing her more than a week now in close vicinity… I know its anything but nice.

I concentrate on Ian.

His head is bowed, not looking at her, and his body is angled away from her. It's obvious he fears her, but there is something in his eyes, which I can see but she can't that seems... familiar to me.

He looks like a fox in the woods. Waiting, bidding his time for the opportune moment.

To do what? I have no idea.

His eyes dart over to me, almost as if he felt me looking at him. He holds my gaze for a moment, then looks away. I'm left feeling like I'm missing something. Something important.

Clove never accedes to my help, so I leave her my balm and bandages and go over to my space. We spend the rest of the day lazing about, recuperating. Every few hours I apply more burn salve to my leg.

We eat, we sleep… some of the others I hear having small meaningless conversations, but mostly I keep to myself. Glimmer, Ian and Marvel take turns all day standing watch over the rest of us.

Later that night, I can't sleep. It might be the burn, but it also might be everything that happened today. A little after midnight I can't take it any longer and decide to go to the lake to take a bath.

After stripping down and submerging myself into the water a couple of times-the water is cold, but the night is not, I sit on the bank, not thinking, mind blank, just staring at the waves. Thoughts passing in and out of my head without me concentrating on anything.

My mind wanders over to the girl from district 4.

I don't even remember her name, and I realize I feel no real guilt about her death. Thinking about it, I feel the same way about Mera, and the District 6 boy as well. A pang of pity, but no guilt. It's kill or be killed, unfortunately.

I wonder if I'll make it out alive. Glancing down at Posy's necklace, I wonder what my family thinks of what I've had to do thus far. It's been almost a week now. What do they think, not only of the deaths I'm responsible for, but of me joining the careers? Becoming one of them.

A gentle beeping noise startles me, and I notice a parachute bob down to land by my feet.

Surprised, I open it. I'm not exactly sure what to think. On one hand, I'm surprised to get the parachute in the first place, and on the other I wonder the reason for getting it. Inside is an ice pack, not terribly useful but not unwanted, considering my throbbing leg...and a note.

It says: _Hang in there hot stuff._

I snort. Haymitch's motivational bullshit helping to alleviate the inner turmoil, somewhat. I get up and walk back to camp, and not long after I actually manage to sleep.

The next day, I wake up late, with the sun bearing down on me. My leg hurts, still, though it's in better shape than it was yesterday. Looking around I notice that Marvel, Cato and Glimmer are gone. Clove is sitting by the provisions, a spear in her good arm, looking half asleep, and Ian is quietly sorting through the provisions.

"Where did the rest go?" I ask Ian after greeting him, sitting besides the food and deciding to start my late breakfast off with an apple.

Ian finds a cake looking thing in a bag, and tells me while eating it that Marvel, Glimmer and Cato, whose foot and ankle where mostly healed by the morning, decided to continue hunting today while Clove and I recuperate. It's a good idea. If we all stayed sitting idly by, it would certainly be an invitation for the game makers to create some twisted new obstacle to entertain viewers. As it is, the possibility remains, but is lessened.

I eat some oatmeal after my apple, thinking about what to do with my day of leisure. Clove looks tired, though at some point she appears to have used the bandages I gave her yesterday. I decide to let her be for the time being, playing around with my stuff, booby trapping my corner of the camp more out of habit right now than any actual danger that one of the others will try to get into my supplies.

After a while, my mind wanders off to Ian again, and trying not to be too obvious I focus on him.

He's a twitchy guy, looking over his shoulder constantly at Clove and at me as if he expects us to attack him at any moment. Clove notices too, even half asleep as she is, and verbally abuses him for a while. He ducks his head, letting out a high pitched “ Sorry! I'm sorry!" Every time she stops for breath, but something seems off about his body language, his tone.

It's sad that the only other person of this group who I should have tried to really ally with, considering that we are both from non career districts and therefore outcasts- is the one l know the least about.

I spend the day dozing, eating, dozing again. It's the best way to get over a fever, a headache or an upset stomach, so I'm applying the same logic to a burn. I go to the lake twice to wash out the injury, and by the time dusk arrives with the rest of our group trudging back from the forrest, I feel almost normal.

No cannons have sounded, no one has died all day.

The next morning Clove looks to be as well as she is going to be without any additional treatment, and unanimously we all decide to head back to hunting. Over breakfast we discuss our strategy. We've been going mostly to the east and south searching for tributes, and only tried the fields once.

We head in that direction, everyone tense. The fields have grass ass tall as us and so we stick together, quiet, unfamiliar with the space and anxious with the silence. We don't stop for lunch, and an hour to dusk decide to call it quits and head back.

Another unproductive day. No cannons.

We trudge back to camp silently. It becomes visible as the sky begins to turn from pink and orange to purple and indigo.

For no apparent reason, as we march closer and closer, I begin to feel tense, afraid.

Back home, Rory used to say I was paranoid. I used to check the door and windows for anything odd, misplaced, suspicious... Who would care to do anything in district 12? My brother would say. Who would steal from us? Spy on us? We were poor, unimportant, forgettable.

But this is the Hunger Games, and paranoid home is just common sense here.

"Stop." I say to the others when we are less than 50 meters away from the camp. My voice sounds hoarse, hesitant, and no one hears me. 

"Wait," I say again, stronger. Everyone does, some with faces more annoyed than others.

Cato and Clove are the angriest today, three days without any sort of action is beginning to wear on the most bloodthirsty of our group.

I concentrate on the ground before us, anything that looks different in the camp.

"Where's 3?" says Marvel, also annoyed, "doesn't he know that the point of keeping guard is actually _being_ on guard? When he comes back from his piss I'm going to crack him a new one."

The ground does looks different. I'm not being crazy, and its more that what just us moving from and into the camp should look like. It's not too apparent, especially from this distance, but it looks like some of the bomb holes that protect our space from any looters have fresh dirt.

The knot in my stomach tightens. I can't be sure, not really, but Marvel noticing that Ian is absent puts me even more on edge.

I try to block out the career's babbling- Glimmer is saying something about wanting to take a bath and Cato is pissing about wanting to get to his whetstone to sharpen his sword, so could I please hurry up with whatever the hell I'm doing?

The ground's definitely changed, but its just the dirt, no extra holes. The food looks just as we left it after breakfast. Supplies haven't exactly been running out, and I haven't been paying attention to specifics, but the apple bags, the instant food stack, the crates full of the dried meat looks pretty much the same.

The logs were we had a fire last night is the same as well.

My sleeping corner is exactly as I left it. This isn't surprising, Ian has seen me trapping it, they all have.

The closest bag to mine is Clove's. I haven't payed much attention to anyone else's stuff, both because apart from an inventory of what weapons everyone has and could kill me with, I don't care how messy or clean they live.

But I've noticed Clove. She has her knife pack's all stacked up usually, and each morning while we talk about a dream she might have had or what we'll eat for breakfast she opens them all and choses the knives she wants for the day, carefully arranging them into her jacket, boots and belt. Then she'll close the pack again and put them to the right of her pillow.

I notice because it's my side. Right now, the knife packs are under the pillow.

"Glimmer, give me the bow" I say.

Glimmer narrows her eyes, and is about to scream at me, when Cato stops her.

"Do it Glimmer," he says.

Maybe he's also made the connection that Ian is not coming back.

She goes red with rage, her hands clench and unclench. The bow has been a sore spot between us since the incident with the boy from 6, and usually, I'm sure Cato would side with her. He knows I'm a better shot, they all do, but Glimmer claimed the bow first, not me, so its hers. Rules are rules.

She shoves it at me, and I have to remind her to give me an arrow as well. I think she might try stabbing me with it, so I change my balance, ready to dodge is necessary, but she just holds it out.

I hold the bow and arrow in my hand for a moment, weighing it, then look at the camp. I step forward a few steps, but I'm hesitant to get closer than I already am, and get into position.

Everyone stares at me as I take careful aim at Clove's knife pack. She's the first one to notice what it is I'm aiming at and out of the corner of my eye I see her stiffen and begin marching towards me.

"Gale, what the hell do you think-"

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, letting the arrow fly just like Katniss taught me. Katniss will always be better than me. Faster, more precise. But at this distance, I hit my target dead center.

 

Everything explodes.

 

The bomb I hit, hidden by the knife packs, sets off a chain reaction with the other twenty something around it. The explosion throws all of us off our feet and into the air. Shrapnel rains around us, and I go deaf for a while by the sound of the boom.

When I can open my eyes again, I feel dizzy, the whole world off kilt, and I see white spots from were the explosion was brightest. I have small burns and scratches all over me from the explosion, but thankfully nothing has really hurt me.

Around me, I see the careers having the same problems. Marvel has fallen on top of Glimmer, and they are both trying to move away from each other, but without inner ear balance fall back down in a tangle again and again. In any other situation, I think I might find it funny.

Clove is curled up a little to my left, probably trying to get her bearings before she tries standing up.

I can't see Cato.

If any of the other tributes came by us now, It'd be pretty easy to kill us all off.

Ian set a pretty good trap. Without me, they would have definitely fallen for it. There was probably a bomb mixed in with each of the supplies, with only one of them accidentally moving anything, it would have gone up and bam, 5 tributes down.

I'm such an idiot.

I should have let them walk into the trap and stayed behind with some stupid excuse. Then all of my most difficult opponents would be gone. But warning them was instinctual, and I curse myself.

I'm beginning to care for these cruel, annoying and dangerous rivals.

I remind myself that when the time comes, I can't hesitate to kill them. They won't hesitate to kill me.

It takes me a while to stand up. When I finally do, hesitant leaning on the bow just in case; I look around.

Cato and Clove seem fine. They are shouting at each other but there's still a persistent ringing in my ear and I can't make out what they are saying. Glimmer is still on the ground, but Marvel has stood up as well, and is looking for the spear that flew out of his hand when he was thrown back.

I focus on Cato and Clove. Their words begin to make sense little my little.

"...mine... personal, son of a..." says Clove

"...How do you...all of us...from the beginning.."

"... _fun_...Cato, and I'll make him suffer... _my_ knives"

Startled, I realize that they are fighting over who gets to kill Ian.

Marvel walks over to them and convinces them that our first priority is to see if we can recover anything from the campsite.

There isn't much to save. I hear Clove screaming and cursing every time she finds a bit of melted metal- she's obviously furious about the loss of her knives. I'm actually more worried about the medicine and blankets being gone.

But personally, I'm not too affected. I lost an extra jacket, my sleeping bag and all the medical supplies, but I have wires and rope in my backpack for traps and food, as well as matches, a thermal blanket and a roll of bandages. On my person I have a knife and the night goggles. I'm always ready, in case I have to break of from the group and go off on my own. I would be perfectly fine to do that just now if it weren't for the bow- which Glimmer has once more taken back.

Fuck.

She's mediocre at best with it, and before the explosion had as an extra weapon, an axe which she was pretty good at. But that got blown away with the rest of the supplies. She's never going to give me the bow now, if there was ever a chance.

I find half a charred apple, uneatable, a boot, a burning piece of cloth and a whistle.

Cato, as the unofficial leader of our group calls us all over to the lake for a meeting.

I look around and notice that no one seems to have been able to salvage anything- Except for Marvel, who somehow got ahold of an extra spear.

"Well, Clove has managed to convince me that she's going to be the one to kill 3, that little rat... but we still have to find him first. He will have noticed that no cannons sounded after the explosion, so I'm betting he ran really fast in the direction contrary from where we were coming. We find him, kill him, then worry about anything else. Lets do it tonight. No fucking around."

I look around and notice them all nodding, it looks like they are all on board with this plan. But the explosion has made me reconsider my position here, and I want to split. This seems like a better time than any.

"I have a better idea" comes out of my mouth unthinkingly. Cato glares at me, and I wince internally. Probably could have worded that better. But I keep on.

"With 3 gone", I begin, 3, not Ian; "that means that there are now 5 tributes out there hiding. There's 5 of us. Lets each go after one."

Unspoken, we all know that by the time there are no other tributes we'll be trying to kill each other.

Clove is the first to agree, and I'm not surprised. She's the closest thing to a friend I have in the arena, and I look at her, not gratefully but...well.

Gratefully.

She glances at me then at Cato. "Works for me. I still have 3."

Cato looks at her for what seems like a long time. Glimmer whines a little about how its a stupid idea, we don't know where any of them are, we should stick with Cato's plan. Her disapproval doesn't concern me, or, apparently, Cato.

He looks at me considering, then smirks dangerously.

"You know what, fine. I'll take the district 11 boy. First day at the bloodbath I saw him run east. If I can't have 3, I'll find someone that looks like an actually challenge."

Nodding, and before I'm stuck with the little girl from 11, who I've been dreading to see the entire time we've been here, I speak up.

"I'll take the redhead from 5. She's slipped by us a couple of times already. We know she's in the woods, and she's good at hiding, but I'm a tracker, I think that on my own I'll find her."

We look at the District 1 tributes. Glimmer still looks furious, but Marvel seems to have accepted the plan. he shrugs, and flippantly says,

"I'll take the little girl. I have a sister about that age, I have a pretty good idea how she's hiding. You can take the cripple Glimmer."

She looks like she's going to scream, her hands are tensed into claws, and her nails are sharp enough to pierce skin. She looks at us all, first at Marvel, then Clove, Cato and finally me.

Her eyes narrow as she looks at me, and I try to make my face look blank, so as to not anger her further. Though to be honest, she's been grating my nerves for a very long time, and just looking at her mean, pretty face makes me angry as well.

Still staring at me she curls up her lip and spits out, "Fine. But even if we do split up, we don't know where the others are. We could spend days out looking for them, without food, without shelter."

I glare back at her, ready to start a fight that I've been avoiding for a long time when we all hear the telltale beeping of a parachute. We look up. More than one parachute is coming down. 

There's one for each of us.

The contents of each cylinder seem to be mostly the same. A water bottle, a couple of granola bars, a bag of jerky, an energy pill. It's not much, but each parachute must have cost an exorbitant amount of money. This must have been a joint effort from all of our sponsors and mentors, a last team effort for the unified careers.

We each grab our things, and look at each other awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. It's Clove who speaks first.

"Well then, I'm not one for big goodbyes, and chances are I'll be seeing at least one of you again soon, so I'm off." she says.

She turns southwards, and waves at us as she shoulders her pack. We make eye contact, her gaze lingers on mine last before she turns around completely. She starts jogging easily as she goes farther away, trying to make the best of the light left of the day. I watch her small form, her swishing ponytail for a moment longer than the rest.

I try not to feel anything, watching her leave, and instead try to be practical.

If Clove is gone, no more reason to stay here debating what else to do.

"I'm off as well," I say. Then, a little unsure, "Bye."

Cato holds out his hand, and I take it, surprised.

His grip is strong, and he stares straight at me, a confident smirk on his face.

"It's been real, Gale” he says.

I stare at him, and nod. Goosebumps run up my spine. I am afraid of this boy.

Marvel holds out his hand as well, and after I let go of Cato's, I shake his as well.

"Goodbye, Gale" he says.

"Bye Marvel," I respond.

I look at Glimmer, but she sneers at me and turns away, so shrugging, I head north, opposite Clove, and don't look back.

I hear Glimmer say something about taking one final bath in the lake before going, and Cato laughing at something Marvel says, then concentrate only on the forest.

I've survived the first part of the Hunger Games, we're down to the last 10, and now it's everyone for themselves. I walk normally through the plain until I get to the forest, but as soon as I'm out of view, I run.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Sylvia Plath's Mad Girl's Love Song. I love that poem.
> 
> About Gale not being able to swim: I find it ridiculous Katniss and Peta could. Where would they learn? Practice? Where is the access to deep water, and the need to learn? So Gale can doggy paddle and not sink, but he can't swim. 
> 
> Also, Clove and Gale becoming slow friends despite knowing they might have to kill each other later on fills me up with feelings. That's it for the career alliance, from now on, every tribute for him/herself...


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

11.- He who makes a beast of himself gets none of the pain of being a man

* * *

 

Day one after the split passes pretty calmly for me.  It’s dark out, but the sky is clear and the moon is out, and I don’t even need to use the night goggles at first. Being in the forest alone, _finally_ , calms me, and after an hour of alternatively running and walking in the same direction I sit down, lay some traps and climb into a tree. I sleep there a couple of hours, dozzing, until I hear a snap bellow and see a squirrel has been caught in the snare.

 

Well, good start. 

 

I build a fire, not too worried about the smoke, and eat most of the squirrel. I'm not too hungry, but we skipped lunch today and so I need the sustenance, and I don’t want to eat the food gifted to me right away. I wrap the two legs I haven't eaten in leaves, stuff it in my pack and go on my way. 

I know the redhead girl has been around our camp, because at least once someone has spotted her from at the edge of the forest. We suspected that she might have been trying to steal our food, hence the reason even after the bombs were set up Ian still stayed as a guard at camp, so she can’t be further than 12 hours ahead of me. But the forest is pretty big, so I start marking trees discreetly with my knife to see what parts I've covered today. The day passes quickly, quietly and uneventfully and as it gets dark, I get hungry again. 

I eat a granola bar and one of my squirrel legs, and put on my night goggles. Today the moon is hidden, and still no signs of the girl. At what I imagine to be 9 pm, just as I’m debating if its better to I start looking for a place to sleep or to keep going, I hear a cannon. The Panem anthem begins immediately after. 

It’s like the Gamemakers were waiting for a death to happen to play it. I look into the sky to see who's died, and am not surprised at all when I see Ian's picture appear in the sky. 

So Clove got to him. Poor kid, from what I overheard of her conversation with Cato, and what I've seen of her in the weeks of living so close by, his death must not have been very pretty. 

I mark a couple more trees, but I'm feeling rather tired, and even with the night googles, I'm more used to hunting and tracking in the morning, so I decide to call it a night. I look around for a good tree, big and with a lot of branches, and find one soon after. I use almost all of my remaining wire to trap the base of the tree, and then the rope to tie myself into one of the wider branches. 

I haven't slept in a tree for a couple of years, the last time being when I was out in the forest of 12 late at night, and when I tried going back home discovered that the fence was on.  

I drift off into sleep and wake up at dawn, feeling stiff but rested. I eat one of my granola bars- noticing that I only have 2 left, and my remaining squirrel leg. Looking around I'm pleased to see that I've caught a raccoon at the base of the tree. I climb down, stretch a little and kill it. I skin it, use some of the water in my bottle to clean it off a bit, then cut it into pieces. I cook a little of it, but wrap up the rest, to keep the meat fresh. 

Just to be sure, I retrace some of my steps from yesterday, double crossing trees and looking for any signs of the redhead. There are none, so I start off towards new ground. At first I don't find anything- though I do notice that there are a lot of birds in the trees, and I get frustrated once again that Glimmer has the only bow in the arena.  

The birds give me an idea though, and I climb as high as I can into one of the sturdier trees. Climbing is another thing Katniss is better than me at. She's smaller, more limber, and she can go higher. 

But Mockingjays, because that is what the birds are, don't nest at the very top of trees, so I get a couple of eggs from one of the nests to eat. The day passes by without me making any progress, but another cannon goes off, and that night I discover its Rue, the small girl from 11 who has died. 

 

The third day of tracking I wake at dawn again, and don’t find anything to hunt. I eat the dried jerky, and some edible plants. At some point, I hear a cannon. 

I wonder briefly who's died- but in the end decide it doesn't matter, and keep looking around, refusing to get impatient or sloppy about my target.

The first sign I get of the redhead, or who I assume is the redhead, is around midday. She's stopped to take a dump, and burry her poop. She's done it well- and if I weren’t looking for signs like this, I don't think anyone would have noticed. I begin to see more signs of her as I start to follow her trail. She's very thin, and light on her feet, and sometimes she will walk, other times she'll crawl and sometimes she'll climb trees and jump from one branch or other. 

 

It’s frustrating, following her. 

 

I can't help but feel amazed at how good she is at covering her tracks. In District 5, the power district, I can't imagine her having the forest space to practice something like this. What she's done is brilliant, if understated. I wonder if she's gotten any sponsors for her work. 

Then again, I can’t really judge a tribute by their district. I don't think anyone expected me to come out of District 12, or Ian to do what he did with the bombs, or the little girl from 11 surviving so long, so it seems this year is turning out to be very interesting, I imagine, for the Capitol viewers. 

I find her the next day, early in the morning, close to dawn. 

As I get closer to her current camping place, the signs of her being here become more frequent. I start going forward slower, being careful to stay quiet, alert, and grab a knife just in case. 

There are less animals around here, and the forrest gets quieter. 

She sees me at the same time that I see her. She's crawling out of a burrow in the ground, covered in dirt and grime. 

For me, its a sudden shock. I had almost forgotten what she looked like, replacing this human girl in my mind with a doe, because tracking her had given me the feeling of tracking an animal. 

Her face looks like a deer right now, afraid and looking for escape routs. I stand up tall, instead of crouching, and walk towards her leisurely. She looks around, and I realize she's looking for the careers. 

"They aren't here," I tell her, not sure why, “It's only me."

She doesn't even try to stand up, to run away. I hoped she would, if she ran, I wouldn't feel so bad about having to kill her. 

"I should have known it would be you to come after me" she says bitterly, and I frown, not understanding. She looks at me, then her eyes trail down my neck, my chest, my arms and concentrate on the knife I'm holding in my hand. Her smile disappears, and she looks down at her hands. 

Oh. 

It’s not the first time a girl has found me attractive. I know what I look like, I know girls like to look at me, but somehow I'd thought that being in the Hunger Games, that survival would be more important.

 

Shit. I don't want to kill this girl.

 

As if reading my mind, the redhead says, "Please, I have a little brother too, I don't want him to see me die like an animal."

I want to be angry at her, cunning little girl, for saying that, playing with my emotions, knowing, as I know she does, that family is important to me. It makes me humanize her, think about her life outside of this arena, back in District 5 with her little brother. Except she's never _been_ anything but human.

"What's his name?" I ask her, cold, stoic, playing for the cameras I'd forgotten were there until she started talking.

She looks up at me, and her eyes are very green. 

Another pretty girl. Another pretty, soon to be dead, girl.

"Ricky" she says and I know my face contorts for a second into something horrible. 

 

Ricky. 

It sounds like Rory and Vick and Posy all mixed up together, and she answered so fast and open, I know she's not lying. 

So its not just the Capitol messing with me. It’s the entire fucking world. 

“Ricky?" I call out to nothing, knowing that everyone can see me and hear me clearly back home. 

"Close your eyes.” As I say it, I'm really thinking of my own siblings back home. Up till now, I've only killed at the Cornucopia, in the bloodbath where it was me or them, and the District 6 boy, who was running, and far away. 

Now there is no fight. This girl is just sitting before me, resigned to death. It’s one thing to kill in the heat of battle, that’s just survival. But this right now feels like murder. 

I hate the Capitol so much for making me do this, but still grip the knife stronger and walk towards her. She closes her eyes, and trembles, breathing so fast it looks like she’s hyperventilating as I kneel besides her. 

"I'm sorry" I whisper, and plunge the knife deep into her chest, where I know her heart is.

She gasps in pain, and I hold her shoulders as she falls back a little. Her eyes open wide, and she looks at me and tries to say something, but instead shudders and stops breathing. 

A cannon sounds and I know she's dead. 

I lay her down on the ground, try to keep my face blank and stony even though I want to rage at the sky, scream and cry. 

This isn't fair, this isn't right, I hate it. I hate all of it. 

But logically, doing anything but looking at her with a cold, unemotional face won't get me sponsors, and that won't help me survive. 

I don't look around to see if she has anything useful, don't try to take anything from her, I just run as fast as I can away from the girl I just killed. I don't really notice in which direction, just think _away_ as the hovercraft appears to take the body.

I run and try not to think about it, but my brain has always been fast, and I've been known to think and rethink everything. 

 

I didn't ask for this, I never realized.

 

I can remember maybe 12, 13 hunger games in my life, and I've always hated them. Hated the reason behind it, hated the sick perversion of people who enjoyed it. 

You root for you're favorites back home, you cry when they die. 

Hope someone from your District makes it back, and never notice that the ones who die fast might actually be the ones who have it easy...I've never stopèd to think about the ones who kill to survive, what they feel, if they feet like this. 

 

I'm everything I've ever hated in these games.

 

Running disguises my deep panicked breaths as exhaustion, and not what they really are, which is borderline hyperventilation. When I finally stop, unable to breath, I close my eyes and try to relax my tense muscles, try to halt my racing thoughts and calm my breathing. 

Act normal, I think, act _boring_ , and the camera's will ignore you. I have no way of knowing if its true or not, but just thinking it helps.

 

I try to turn off the emotional part of my mind, and think logically once more.

As it is, now would be a good time to find someplace good to spend the rest of the day. 

We are down to 7 tributes, so its getting pretty close to the end. Pretty soon the careers are going to begin hunting me down, or I them. 

I find a small brook after an hour walking, which is good because I've run out of water, and though I'm pretty sure if I ask for it, Haymitch can send me an extra bottle, I wan't him to save up the money and sponsors for something I really need. 

Like a bow. That would be great, but probably impossible. 

 I drink from the brook and fill up my water bottle, sighing contentedly as the cold water goes down my throat. The day keeps getting hotter as the sun rises, so I splash my face and neck with some water as well, before deciding to sit down by the creek and do some inventory, keep myself busy.

Blanket, bandages, almost no wire, night goggles, some flint stones to make fire. One last granola bar. A couple of energy pills, Some nails and thumbtacks I have for trapping, rope. My water bottle. 

Enough to survive.

I look at Posy's bracelet for a while, all my supplies arranged around me, and try to remember a better time. Only I can't. 

I stare at the bracelet and remember my father's death, my mothers despair, the night Posy was born and it looked like both her and my mother were going to die. Going out to the forrest and not catching anything for days and days. 

I remember Ed Wood's reaping, being gouged on a spear as he ran from a career. 

Finding an old man who lived close to our house frozen and dead on the ground as I walked with Vick and Rory to school. 

Life has always been terrible, there’s no purpose, the suffering isn’t worth it. 

I hate everything. I hate everyone. 

I spend the day there- I've been so out of it that anyone could have come up to me and I wouldn't have realized it. I quickly get everything back into my bag and climb the tree I was leaning against. I secure myself into it and wait for the Panem anthem to begin. 

 

The redhead I killed appears in the sky, as does the District 10 boy. So Glimmer's freed up as well. Not that I care right now. I feel exhausted, and try to sleep. 

But the night offers only memories- and nightmares.

 

- 

 

Ed Wood, Thom Hornwood and I became friends the first day of class. We had fun playing, running, getting to know kids our own age. Ed lived with his drunk father, a miner like mine, and we’d go to his home after school, sometimes drink some of his father’s alcohol, sometimes just lay around looking at the TV. 

When we turned 12, both Ed and Thom took one extra tesserae. I took four. We were all terrified; I more than them, and I don’t know if he did it to act brave, or to act compassionate with me, but seeing me at that office, trembling, panicking- Ed decided then to take one more tesserae. 

_May the odds be ever in your favor_ , he said, trying to make light of the situation, imitating the Capitol freak who hosted the games in our District before Effie Trinket. 

It still wakes me up, hearing Ed’s name called out that year, seeing him loose all the color in his face, standing next to me, going absolutely slack. The peacekeepers had to escort him onto the stage, he wouldn’t move without direction. I visited him in the justice building, feeling sick, thinking about that one extra tesserae he’d taken to make me feel better, and said nothing, just sat besides him and heard him cry. 

I watched him die, cut up from the stomach to the throat. His death was gory, it was explicit, and I couldn’t turn away as I saw my friend- one of my first friends, murdered on screen. Then the screen cut to Cesar Flickerman’s audience roaring in bloodlust and approval. 

Thom and I drifted apart after that, and honestly I tried to forget about Ed the following years. I mostly succeeded by the time my father’s death happened, and then I started hunting, and then I met Katniss. 

But that night I dream of Ed. 

And I dream of the redheaded girl, and in my dream it’s not her sad, gaunt face I look down on as I murder her. It’s Katniss’s. 

 

-

 

I wake up before dawn, get down from my tree and continue walking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote by Samuel Johnson. 
> 
> I was corrected by a couple people about how Gale learned to swim through Katniss who learned to swim from her dad in cannon... But swimming is hard! Not just doggy paddle but actual swimming... so I'm sticking to my version and they would all drown in this AU. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Ed Wood is an OC I invented because I like the idea of Gale having a semi normal, not so unhappy childhood even if for only a little while. And then knowing someone personally in the games so he can hate them even more vehemently.


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

* * *

12.- When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire

* * *

 

I get to what looks like a natural springs around 2 in the afternoon the next day, with clear water that allows me to see the bottom - and the bottom is pretty deep. There are some fish in it, and it looks rather cold.

I throw my backpack down, take of my jacket, shirt and shoes. I waddle in until only my neck is above water, and then i crouch down until I’m fully submerged. 

I stay down as long as I can, feeling the cold water wash over me. It feels amazing, cleansing, tiny pinpricks all around my body from the cold. I surface when by breath runs out, laugh a little and then submerge again. 

When I surface the second time an arrow comes towards me. 

 

I'm lucky Glimmer is such a bad shot. It doesn't even land close to me. 

“I can’t believe my amazingly good luck!” she hollers down at me, “Here I was, three days living on scraps and fucking berries and after I kill you, I’m going to ask my sponsors for a nice warm meal!”

I open my water clogged eyes. 

She's 30 feet away from me, on the other side of the spring from where I entered but almost at the edge, which is nothing really, and somehow I'm not dead.

That doesn't mean that the second shot she shoots at me misses completely. 

I feel the pain in my shoulder come almost immediately, and dive back underwater. Its completely transparent, so it doesn't offer much protection, but the water can slow down the arrows, maybe distort my image a little, and anything at this point is going to help save my life. 

I open my eyes and walk underwater towards the shallow end of the pool - my shoulder hurts a lot, and Glimmer manages to shoot another two arrows, which miss, but barely- before I reach the shore.

I pull myself out of the water and catch another arrow in the leg. I ignore the pain, and limping a little, run towards the trees. The first one I come across I hide behind.

The adrenaline is shooting through my veins, and that second arrow didn't really hurt as much as the first, which has also dulled considerably. 

Quickly, I run through my options. I can see my pack from behind my tree, and my knife, my only weapon right now at about 12 feet from me. If I dive for it, I might be able to get it, but that’s too obvious a thing to do, I'm going to be slow with the pain, and I can hear Glimmer running towards me already. 

 

Option two then- run. 

I don't have a great start on her, and I'm barefoot, injured and weaponless, but I head into the forrest anyways. I think while I run, and hear her gloating behind me. 

Glimmer has the advantage at long and middle range. If I keep moving she won't be able to shoot, her aim is not good and shooting in movement is a whole lot different than shooting static. But she's catching up and the closer she gets, the more vulnerable I am. 

If I want to beat her right now I need to get her close, and overpower her with strength. I glance backwards and see her running after me, the bow in one hand. I'm willing to bet she's got a knife on her as well, at the very least, so I have to grab her by surprise. 

 

Tricky. 

 

I manage to take the arrows out of my thigh and shoulder as I run, and it hurts, and blood spurts out, but it’s necessary. I throw them as far away from me as I can so that she can't recover the arrows, and start looking around the ground for rocks. 

Its not a great plan, but I'm starting to feel lightheaded with pain, and I'm still a better shot than her, even if my throwing arm is, unfortunately, throbbing in pain and spurting out blood. 

I see a good rock, just big enough to fit into my hand comfortably and dive. I grab the stone with my left hand, tuck my right in close to my body to roll and when I stand up I'm facing in Glimmer's direction. She looks a tiny bit surprised at my move, and stops, about 15 feet away from me. I take cover behind a tree, its not big enough to hide me completely, but it does cover most of my body. 

"You really are pretty pathetic with that bow, Glimmer" I say to her, taunting, trying to rill her up so she looses focus. My voice sounds tight. 

"I mean, that was ridiculous. You shot what? 5 arrows at me and didn't manage to land a single crippling hit? Maybe I should give you some lessons with that bow."

She growls at me and I see her take out another arrow and put it in the bow. She´s arrogant, but not stupid, and takes the training stance and elevates her bow, pointing it in my direction. 

"You're going to have to stop hiding behind that tree eventually, 12, and when you do, I promise, I won't miss again." She sneers.

I laugh, mentally calculating how many steps away from me she is, the weight of the rock in my hand. "Lesson one," I call out to her in a mocking voice, "Never pick a target you can't handle.”

 

She doesn't fall for the bait, but seems content to keep talking. 

"Oh 12, you stupid cunt, I've been dreaming about-"

 

I don't let her finish, coming out behind my tree, taking careful aim and throwing the rock as hard as I can at her. She fires her arrow as soon as she sees me and I duck, but the arrow still grazes my cheek and ear. It cuts deep, but I don't feel it, already running towards her. 

Unlike her, I know that aiming at the head is a stupid thing to do. The head is a smaller target, and much more mobile than say, the chest. Glimmer’s bow is covering her chest though, so I aim lower, and my rock hits her stomach, my target, perfectly. 

She gasps out in pain, lowers both her arms towards her middle automatically. It takes me 4 steps and a jump to get to her. She falls back on the ground painfully, me on top of her. The fall jars both my shoulder and thigh, but I don’t really process the pain, too focussed trying to trap her arms under my body.

I grab her throat with both my hands and squeeze. 

She's already lost most of her air with the rock, and my weight, plus her arms and the bow between us, makes the position very uncomfortable and constricting for her. 

She gasps, wiggles around, but my hold on her neck is pretty tight, and I don’t plan on letting go. Her eyes are wide and panicked, none of the hate and arrogance I'd seen in them before, and her mouth opens and closes like a fish, gagging, while her face gets redder and redder from the lack of oxygen.  

She manages to free one of her arms from under me and makes a grab for my throat, but I'm much longer than her, and lean back, so the hand falls back down, grabbing behind her and pulling a knife. She stabs me with it between the ribs, but weakly, her movement jerky, not strong enough. I cry out in shock more than pain, and pressure her neck harder. She stabs again, a little higher, and still i don't let go. Her struggles become weaker and weaker, until she stops moving, stops twitching and her body relaxes.

 

I watch her die, and I hear her die, struggling until she’s motionless and the only sound in the forest is my harsh breathing. Still I don’t let go until the cannon sounds. 

 

My grip on her relaxes instantly, and I roll off her, laying there, staring at the sky breathing hard. Little by little the adrenaline fades from my veins and I start to notice things. My body is clammy, cold because of its exposure to the air, wet both from sweat and the water. My wounds are still bleeding. All of them, the shoulder wound and the thigh wound, my cheek, my ear and both the knife wounds. It makes me feel lethargic, dizzy, and I know I have to patch myself up if I don’t want to bleed out. I turn my head and look at Glimmer. 

Her eyes are still open, and her face is white from lack of blood, but her neck, unsurprisingly, looks purple and mangled. One of her arms is laying besides her, the knife loosely gripped in her hand, and the other still clutches her bow to her chest. 

 

I smile a little at that. 

My bow now. 

Finally. 

 

Slowly, very slowly, I sit up, wincing and groaning in pain. I take the knife from Glimmer’s hand and put it into my pants, then take the bow and set it besides me.

 I roll her over, take the quiver and her backpack and sit still again. My head is pounding, and I'm shivering, the only clothing on me my pants.

With the knife, I slowly cut off Glimmers jacket. By now my head really hurts, my eyes don't focus well, and my arms don't respond to me correctly, but I cut the jacket into strips and tie these loosely around my thigh and torso. I can't get to the shoulder with only one arm, so I leave that wound be for now. 

Stumbling to my feet, with the bow in my hand and the quiver and the backpack around my shoulder I start walking back towards the springs, towards my stuff. 

The world wavers around me, and I try to steady myself against trees. I don´t know how long I walk, but suddenly my foot catches in a root and fall to the ground. I black out almost instantly. 

 

When I wake up, and honestly, I’m a little surprised that I woke up at all- it’s nighttime, and everything hurts. 

 

I'm freezing, there’s a feeling of nausea in my throat, and pain everywhere; my arm, my leg, my face, my side, and my feet. I sit up and notice that I have a stick sticking out of my left foot, and it looks like my fall sprained my right ankle, making it swell up pretty spectacularly. 

My makeshift bandages are soaked, though it looks like all of my wounds have stopped bleeding, including the shoulder one, which I’d left un-bandaged. 

Glimmer did a number on me, but after my little impromptu nap, I'm thinking straight again.

I need water, and I need food, and I need shelter. 

I pull out the stick in my foot, and grunt in pain. Then I get back to my feet and look around. It’s dark, but I can still make out a little the path I made as I tore through the forrest trying to escape Glimmer this morning, so I start walking in that direction. I stop often to rest, feeling very weak, and eventually get to where I left my stuff. 

Thankfully, everything remains the same. 

I throw down the bow, the quiver and Glimmer's backpack, and stumble my way to my bag. First I drag myself towards the pool. Untying my thigh wound is particularly painful because the dry blood sticks to the cloth and ripping it off is really painful. The side wound has started bleeding again so it comes off easier, and I sit on the ground close to the edge, submerging myself as much as I can into the freezing water to try and clean all of the wounds. I can’t stay in too long, I start shivering uncontrollably and I’m pretty sure I’ll get hypothermia at this pace. The water was amazing in the morning, with the heat of midday. During the night? It doesn't feel that good. I get out and put on my jacket, though even moving my arm a little jars my wound and is very painful. There are bandages in the bag, and I take those, plus a granola bar, which I eat through my nausea.

I wrap the shoulder wound first, and though its night I can see that ripping out the arrow was probably not the best of ideas. It’s the arrow that went in deepest, and therefore the most dangerous to me. The side wound is shallow, two stabs, but Glimmer didn't get anything important, and was too weak to plunge the knife in very deep, so patching that up isn't much of a problem. 

The thigh wound is next, and at that point I'm in so much pain that I barely have enough strength to grab my sleeping bag and crawl in it to sleep, I'm so exhausted. 

 

It’s the worst night of my life. I wake up with every sound of the forrest around me, terrified. Moving even the slightest brings a groan to my lips, and the pain is constant and throbbing. I shiver, cold, despite my thermal sleeping bag, and my brain races through a thousand subjects all night. I´m pretty sure that my shoulder starts bleeding again, because I can smell the metallic scent of blood and feel a wetness inside my bag, and I'm certain that some predator, animal or tribute is going to come by me at any moment an kill me. 

I spend the entire night with a knife held close, but thankfully nothing bigger than a racoon appears, and I scare those away with growling noises I learned to imitate from mountain lions and big cats of the forrest in 12. 

 

When dawn arrives, I feel half dead already. 

But I get up anyways. 

The first thing I do is go wash my wounds again, and I discover, much to my displeasure, that just as I thought, the shoulder wound has started bleeding again and the thigh wound looks a little bit infected. Damn, I knew the medicines I lost in the explosion would be necessary eventually. I wrap up my wounds with clean white bandages, exhausting the small supply I had, and clean the old ones as best I can with the water from the creek. 

After dressing, I sit down by my pack and eat all of my remaining jerky, dried fruit and herbs. I need the strength. Apart from the racoon I caught two days ago and finished off last morning, I haven't eaten much. 

 

After the meal I sit down and do inventory of the things I grabbed from Glimmer. 

The knife is much smaller than the one I cary, but still useful, The bow is in perfect condition, but I find, unfortunately, only 6 arrows in the quiver. There's another arrow at the bottom of the small pool, the one that Glimmer shot at me while I was trying to escape, but I don´t think my body could take a dive to the depths to retrieve it. Fortunatelly I do manage to get the other arrow she shot at me and missed, and though I would love to go into the woods and find the two I threw away, I know finding them will be very difficult, and years of watching the Hunger Games have convinced me that if I stay in the same place too long without doing anything interesting, the gamemakers will send something unpleasant my way, and I feel in no shape to deal with anything. 

 

Glimmer's bag is very unhelpful. She´s got an extra jacket and a pair of pants that won´t fit me, a blanket,  some rope, an almost empty pot of some sort of creme, an extra hair band, a hairbrush, an empty thermos and a lighter. No food. No bandages, and no medicine. 

 

 

Still, the blanket, rope and lighter will be useful, so I take those and put them into by own backpack. Then I pack everything up and prepare to leave. I fill my water sack and Glimmer´s thermos, taking long gulps of water to replenish all the blood I´ve lost, take one of the energy pills I had stashed away and stand up, thinking. 

There are 5 tributes left. Marvel, Cato and Clove, me, and the 11 boy. Logically, the closest to me should be Marvel, and so he's the biggest threat. I’m in no condition to fight him right now, so I head north, to the cliffs, where the District 10 boy was hidding out. 

If I can find a cave, I can stay there for a time and recuperate, while at the same time setting up traps to get animals to eat. If the District 10 boy stayed there a long time, there must be some sort of water body nearby, where I can wash my wounds and maybe catch fish. Glimmer killed the boy only a day before coming after me, so it can’t be too far. 

 

I head out and hope for the best. 

 

It¡s slow progress, and by midday I’m hungry, have nothing to eat and have what appears to be a fever. Haymitch comes to my rescue with a loaf of bread and a 3 white pills, probably for the fever. I take one pill, eat the food, drink some water, keep going. 

When I finally reach the cliffs, I can barely walk, my bad leg's dragging behind me, my harsh breathing aggravating my side wound and the hunger is back. My vision comes and goes, but still I see the trail the District 10 boy left, his limp leaving a noticeable trail. I morbidly think that I'm mirroring his path now, my leg in even worse shape than his was. 

The path he took is easy to follow because of his disability, and I'm grateful to discover that he did, in fact, have a cave with a small dripping pool inside. 

The pool is small, a meter wide, 30 inches long and no way to judge its depth. I sit on his bed of hay and before long am asleep again. 

When I wake up, there's a rat drinking besides the pool. I take my bow and shoot the thing, spearing it into the ground on my first try. Groaning, I get up and take it, putting the arrow back into its sheathe. My stomach rumbles, and I think about skinning the surprisingly fat, though nasty rat. 

Logic, my best friend, has a better idea. 

I don't have any wire left, but do have rope, and that, together with Glimmer's small knife, the skinned rat, and the rocks laying around me make a makeshift snare. Limping, I head outside and place the bait on the ground. Its getting late, which is perfect, because the best game comes out at night. Sitting perfectly still, I spear an arrow and wait. 

I catch a mountain cat in the snare when it pounces on the dead rat. Its not strong enough to keep it still for too long, but thanks to the bow and arrow, I kill it fast anyways. I take my prey and a couple of sticks into the cave, and cook it inside, thinking that now that I don't have to worry about either food or water, maybe Haymitch can send me some more medicine. Injuries make me hungry, and I finish off the entire cat that night. With the bones and fur, as well as the rope and knife, I make another trap, this time sturdier and not needing supervision. 

I try to sleep. 

The next day is boringly similar. 

 I catch a ferret in the bone cage, clean my wounds and sleep all day. Haymitch sends me some anti-infection cream, and I lather that on all my open wounds, but the truth is, I'm starting to get really worried. 

I can barely move, and when I do, I make too much noise, limp, and can't fight. I try to think of some way to get into a confrontation with another tribute without dying, and having the bow helps matters, but not having many arrows doesn't.

I'm dozing off again later that day when a cannon sounds. 

 

I'm actually kind of impressed. 

 

Since the career pack broke up five days ago, there's been 6 deaths. The Capitol must be loving it. I wonder if Thresh actually posed a treat to Cato, if the district 11 boy managed to injure the biggest threat in the games. 

 

But come nightfall, its not Thresh's face on the sky like I suspected It would be. It’s Marvel's. 

 

Days pass by. I keep getting food, and I have shelter and water, but my wounds aren't getting better, and after the salve for my infection, Haymitch doesn't send me anything more. 

 

I wonder if its because what I need is too expensive, or if my sponsors have deserted me in favor of someone who is not slowly dying of old wounds. 

 

I'm also starting to get very uneasy. Marvel's death was 4 days ago, and after that, no other cannons have gone off. 

That means the game-makers are going to do something to spice things up. 

 

Last time they did that, four years ago, the earthquake they unleashed took everything out and drowned everyone but the mad girl from 4. I wonder what horror, exactly, they are going to unleash on me. 

 

They announce their decision at dusk.

A feast, with something every tribute needs.

 

The announcement of the feast practically seals my fate as a dead man. I can’t stay in the cave, the game makers won’t allow it. And I need medicine. That is definitely what is waiting for me at the Cornucopia tomorrow. Otherwise, the infection will kill me. 

But at the feast I will have to fight- and all the tributes that remain are highly competent, strong, and more than capable, any of them, of taking me out. 

I stand up from my slumped against the wall position, stretch, pack my bag with all the food I have, and head out.

 

There really is no question about it at all. 

Better to die fighting than sick in a cave. 

I start walking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is the start of a song called You're Ex-Lover is Dead... by Stars... I had to look that up, because I woke up one day with that phrase in my head and I couldn't remember where it had come from. 
> 
> It's an ok song. 
> 
> Also! Gale now has his bow. And Glimmer is dead, he's injured again, and things continue to go downhill for everyone.  
> In this AU, I imagine Clove and Marvel ran into each other and Clove came out on top.


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

13.- You may trod me in the very dirt but still, like dust, I’ll rise.

* * *

Since I haven’t moved much all the days that I’ve been stuck in the cave, my body suffers going down the mountain. It’s hard, my muscles shake and strain, and to top it all off, I have a pretty pronounced limp now because of my leg. It’s almost comical.

The district 10 boy arrived here with a limp and never made it out. Now I leave with a limp, never to return.

When I finally arrive at the forest, the sun has already set and the wind and temperature has dropped dramatically. I take out the night goggles, and continue south. It’s easier to travel in the familiar forest setting, but at the slow pace I’m going, I won’t have time to rest at all before dawn. So I walk, as quietly as I can, afraid of encountering any predatory animals or any of the remaining tributes.

After a couple of hours it becomes so automatic and exhausting I literally can think of nothing else than simply putting one foot in front of the other, to keep going without stoping, knowing that if I stop… I won’t be able to go on. So I trudge, one foot landing heavier than the next. Leaning on trees, helping myself over streams and uneven ground with branches and with my arms stretched out in front of me.

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

One foot after the other, keep going, keep going. Pain and exhaustion and resolve all blend into one and I don’t think, I just walk.

Because my mind is so tired and so slow, I’m not sure if I realize I recognize where I am or if I realize that the sky is getting lighter first.

I pause, amazed at myself for walking what is probably 10 straight hours. Sweat is streaming down me despite the cold, and my stomach grumbles, needing food.

I realize my feet are screaming at me, blisters all over. I finally stop, find a rock and sit down. Trembling all over, I grab my pack from my back and eat everything I have. I’m still an hour and a half away from the Cornucopia at my current pace, which means I’ll probably get there a little late… but after eating it’s like my body shuts down on me, and I can’t move.

With all the strength I have left, and praying that despite the last couple of days I still have sponsors… I try to speak. My throat is dry, my jaw hurts, and what comes out is a raspy whisper.

“Haymitch… help.”

I have to get to the Cornucopia. I have to.

My eyes fight to keep blinking, to not close, and they focus and unfocus repeatedly.

But Haymitch answers.

I hear the telltale beeping, and see the small grey parachute. I can’t even imagine how much money is needed for a parachute so close to a feast…but somehow Haymitch pulled through.

It lands right besides my hand, and it takes me agonizing minutes to open the parachute, take out the small pill inside of it, and bring it to my lips. I’m out of water, and my first try to dry swallow it is a complete failure, and I almost kill _myself_ trying to cough it out- so I try again, filling my mouth with saliva before taking the pill.

It’s like the hangover pill Haymitch gave me on the train, and not like the ones I found at the Cornucopia the first day, the ones that work slowly and like coffee.

No, this tenses up my muscles and makes me scream out in pain and I feel like vomiting- I actually do vomit, and then all the exhaustion and pain seems to bleed away. I can still feel it in the back of my mind, the exhaustion, just waiting to return, but the pill has blocked it out momentarily.

The note Haymitch sends me pretty much confirms this:  
_-temporary fix Gale. Go get the real prize.-_

I stand up,looking up in thanks, see the pinks of the sky mixing with grey, hear the mockingjays sing- and continue on towards my destination.

I arrive to see the last bit of the fight between Cato and Clove. He uses the sizeable bag he’s just recieved from the Cornucopia to block a knife, and with a graceful movement, he steps sideways, pivots on his back foot and impales Clove straight through her stomach with his sword. He pushes it in until it comes out of her back and they are standing chest to chest.

She screams.

I take out an arrow and string it in the bow, advancing slowly so that they don’t notice me. I feel a deep fear, acutely aware of the sword sticking through Clove, the strength in Cato's arms, the grin on his face. If he notices me now... If he notices I’m _injured_ … I die.

Cato says something to Clove, then takes a step back and yanks out the sword. It makes a wet noise as it comes out of Clove’s body, and she whimpers, falling to her knees. Cato takes the sword and levels it to her neck.

It seems he wants to decapitate her.

A strange feeling goes over me. A type of angry denial, and I aim my bow at Cato, who still, amazingly, hasn’t noticed me, so concentrated is he with his victory.

I breathe, and with my exhalation let my arrow fly. The pain of pulling back the string is intense, but I don’t let it affect me.  
The arrow flies true and embs itself, deeply, into Cato’s shoulder.

A parallel wound to my own.

He shouts out in pain and surprise and looks towards me, then drops to a crouch just as I let the second arrow fly and thus miss him. I catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes as he turns around and runs towards the protection of the woods, his pack protecting his back and running in a zig zag so I can’t aim very well. The arrow is still stuck in his arm.  
Shit. Now I only have 5 left.

Suddenly, after Cato’s exit, everything seems to quiet down to nothing, until I hear a thump, as Clove falls to her side. I limp towards her quickly. I can’t think about my feelings right now… blocking out everything I can as I kneel besides her body. She grabs her perforated stomach with both arms, blood drips down her chin and breathing with difficulty. I gently pick her up and lean her against me.

Her eyes are glazing over as she looks at me, blood driping down her chin.

"Gale?? I’m.... pain" she whispers, hissing and coughing and…crying.

“I know.” I say, comfortingly, as if to Posy, “I’m sorry Clove.”

She looks into my eyes and tries to smile “Tell... Tell Rob I love him yeah? And... Kill…” she starts saying, pressing something towards me in her blood soaked hand. In it I only now notice is a small bag with her name on it. She convulses, her face scrunched up in pain.

"Gale?" She repeats.

“I’m here” I respond, and my voice sounds ragged as well.

"I don’t want to die. I wanted to win. Will you…?" It’s not so much a question as it is just her trying to say something. She doesn’t make it to the end of the sentence. With a sigh she closes her eyes and begins to relax in my arms. I can feel her breath slow down as she goes limp. Ir takes a while, her having falling unconviius as blood continúes to leave her body... Buy eventually the canon sounds.

“I’ll try” I tell her corpse, hoarse and soft, repeating the words I swore to my siblings. Then I lay her on the ground carefully and stand up. The clearing around me is still calm in the first hours of the day, so I start walking towards the Cornucopia, where only my bag, a small one, bigger than Clove’s but not by much, remains.

The helicopter comes to pick up Clove, and I watch it take my friend away as I apply the cream to my wounds and tie her ribbon around my left wrist, opposite Posy's beads. Now that she’s dead I can admit that to myself at least- Clove, despite the short time de knew each other and the less favorable points of her personality was my friend.

The sky is still a dawnish red, and it’s three tributes left and a while to go yet.

After the helicopter leaves, I try to get up, but the world tilts around me. My vision goes foggy, and I get dizzy… its obvious the energy pill I took an hour ago has run its course, and now it’s time for me to sleep.

I climb the Cornucopia, carefully and as focused as I can be, feeling the crash that’s about to go down. I no longer have any traps, and I only have a few arrows left, so I’m basically exposed if the District 11 boy or if Cato comes back while I’m unconscious.

I have to hope they don’t, and that my higher ground is good enough cover for a distanced attack. Reaching this conclusion, I lay down, pack still on, bow still in my hand… and then I black out.

When I wake, it’s dusk to the sound of a cannon.

I take stock of my surroundings and of myself. Shockingly, I feel a lot better. A LOT. As in, after applying cream to my infected wounds they’ve all but closed up, and after sleeping literally the entire day my body and my mind feel sharper than they’ve been in days and ready for anything to happen.

I am hungry though.

Unfortunately I’m out of things to trap, and I don’t know if I’m willing to risk my remaining arrows on moving animals at night.

As the Panem anthem begins to sound, I open Clove’s Cornucopia gift. It’s a three pronged knife, and a small container that judging by the label is almost definitely poison. Useless for my hunting needs at the moment, but I can probably use it against Cato, who, I’m not surprised to discover, is the last remaining tribute.

I take a minute to wonder if he’ll come after me tonight, then discard the thought. He’ll want to rest, and then he'll come back here tomorrow.

In his shoes it’s what I would do. Even if I had moved, he’d have to retrace my steps to find me… and looking at it through Capitol eyes, this is a good place for a final fight.

Sighing, I decide to forgo food for tonight, fiddling with Clove’s weird knife, wondering how best to use it. After a moments deliberation I decide to coat the arrows in the poison, considering it’s my primary weapon.

I have no idea how potent it is, but its worth a try. The night gets darker as I work, even with my night goggles on it’s still not as good as daylight, and I have to be careful not to touch the poison.

I’ve done two arrows and am lamenting the broken shaft of one of the two remaining when I hear a growl.

Followed by another.

I look up from my work, suddenly tense, to see glowing eyes un then plains coming near me.

One, two... Three pairs of eyes, three sets of growling open maws showing off sharp teeth and with my night goggles I can also see their sharp claws.

The mutts, for that’s what they are, circle the base of the cornucopia a couple of times, experimentally jumping up to see how high they get. They can’t get to the top, but each consecutive jump gets higher and higher… which makes me consecutively more and more anxious.

One of them jumps to within a meter of the edge and sticks his claws into the metal, hanging there, growling.

It dislodges one of its claws, makes as if to claw up and I shoot one of my arrows straight into its eye.

The mutt slumps, and stuck with only one claw begins sliding down the Cornucopia, a horrible metal tearing sound following it down as it goes.

About halfway down, one of the remaining mutts jumps on top pf the corpse as if a spring board, and then takes another jump to land not too far away from me.

I string an arrow immediately, shooting it point blank as it jumps towards me, the arrow going straight through its eye, just like the other one.

It’s body looses momentum in the air, going slack and sliding the rest of the way to land on my feet.

I take no chances with the last one, stringing my final arrow at it. This one seems smarter than the other two, stalking from side to side, growling at me but making no move to attack at the moment.

Time passes this way, the animal analyzing its possibilities but not yet acting, me with my bow and arrow pointed at it, tense, waiting.

Eventually, it makes a decision, running back out into the darkness, to where my night vision goggles can no longer detect it.

It stays gone for another half an hour, and just when I begin to lower my bow, not relax yet, because I am not an idiot, it comes back, somehow faster than before.

I pull my bow back up as it leaps, and both in panic at it’s speed and shock at it’s reappearance I shoot my last arrow into it’s neck, injuring it but not fatally.

The mutt howls as it falls, hitting the Cornucopia’s wall, only a few feet short of my position, clawing as it slides down.

 

I’m out of arrows.

 

I debate what to do as the mutt continues to growl up at me, too injured to try another leap, but still a threat. I decide after a while to try and rest. It is still a few hours until dawn, and I have no idea how long it will be until Cato comes back, or the Game Makers force him back.

It’s not a deep sleep, considering the mutt still at the base, but I do rest my eyes, and as I drift I wonder if there’s some way I can repair my remaining arrow with its broken shaft, or what I can do to make Clove’s gift a useful weapon. Preferably, I think, a projectile.

I’ve always been a long distance fighter, and that’s going to be my best bet at beating Cato. I wonder if that’s why the mutts came after me tonight. To eliminate the threat of my bow. In any case, the corpse of the mutt besides me will make for the first truly filling meal in days, and that could also be their purpose.

The Game Makers will want us at our best for the final showdown.

When the sun begins to lighten the sky I open my eyes once more. I take off the night goggles, and stretching, walk to the edge of the Cornucopia to see the animal at the base.

It has strangely vibrant green eyes, and when it sees me it whines, gets up, and slowly turns it’s back to me, limping towards the forest.

I watch it go. Then decide I have a busy day and begin moving.  
I have a weapon to create, a meal to eat, and a fight to plan.

There is no time let to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol so here we are, being productive thanks to a global quarantine. I wrote this chapter and the next during this week, thought I'd try and force myself to a deadline. So I'll probably post the next chapter pretty soon, but in the mean time...
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> Anyways, the quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Maya Angelou's famous poem, Still I Rise. It's beautiful, powerful, and uplifting. Go read it if you have a chance. 
> 
> There's only one more chapter and then the epilogue, so almost done! Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and reviews! They really are great motivators.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Is it selfish of me to crave victory? Or is it brave?

* * *

He arrives at dusk. I feel that maybe this day is shorter than the last, that maybe the game makers change the sky on purpose to make the setting more dramatic. They’ve done that before in previous games, changing the amount of hours between ‘daytime’ and ’nighttime’ to make it feel longer or shorter depending on what the audience likes.

Everything seems unnaturally quiet, no mockingbirds calling out, no wind to rustle the grass… just my steady breathing, and Cato's approaching footsteps. I feel- for the first time since entering these games, strangely calm as well.

After close to a month of such intense stress and turmoil, it’s almost an alien feeling. It’s been such a struggle, since that first morning that I woke up to go into the woods back in 12… no respite, no time to relax. But now it all just seems so simple. If I win this fight, I go home. If I loose it, I die. That is all that’s left for me now.

I left the Cornucopia and the mutt corpses behind me when I saw him approach. Preferring to meet Cato in the open field, I debating using the Cornucopia to my advantage as a hide out but… I no longer have the bow and arrow. It would hinder me as much as it would help.

As he approaches, I notice Cato has intense purple bags under his eyes, his short bond hair looks dirty and oily, as does his exposed skin. He’s also wearing some type of armor on his chest and arms, probably his gift from the feast two days ago. His sword is sheathed and hanging comfortably on his left hip, and he looks slightly gaunt.

But then, so do I.

He doesn’t seem to be in much pain from the wound I inflicted on him with my arrow, and from the confrontation he had with the district 11 boy. I imagine he's probably received some sort of medical help from his sponsors, and I won't make the mistake of underestimating his strength because of his previous wounds, just as I know that he won’t with me.

I walk forwards to face him, and we both stop at some point in the center of where the initial landing platforms where, now all dug out and growing with new grass. The Capitol likes these little symetries. Ending the games where they began.

We stand there, loose but not relaxed, as I stare at Cato, who's about 5 meters away from me, and mentally go over my weaponry. I've got my knife strapped onto my right thigh. Hidden behind my back and underneath my jacket is the other knife I took from Glimmer when I killed her.

I've got the broken arrowhead hidden inside my boot. Finally, I curl up my fingers in my left hand, clenching the muscles in my wrist and arm subtly, feeling the contraption I built out of Clove's gift. I am hoping I won't have to resort to using it.

I shake my hands a little, feel the wire tightly wrapped around that wrist, and in contrast, Posy's beads loosely jingle on my right.

Cato surveys me critically from his position, lightly touching the scabbard of his sword as he looks at me, then nods his head at me to point something out.

“What happened to the bow and arrows?”  
Of course that is the first thing that he notices. I shrug my shoulders casually.

"I lost them to some mutts.”

He makes a comprehending sound, but it’s carless as well. He doesn't really care- the bow and arrow must have been his biggest worry facing me, but now that those are gone, he's got the upper hand in almost every way.

I could ask him about the district 11 boy, or make short conversation about his armor, his shoulder, Clove. It’s what’s expected of us. Everyone in Panem is watching, and at the end of the day, this is just good television to the Capitol.

But I'm tired of playing off my emotions to those cameras.  
I’m tired of hiding what I'm thinking, of worrying what my family are seeing.  
What Katniss is seeing.

"Cato, lets just get this over with" I say.  
One way or another, this ends now. Cato shrugs, not appearing to care about the viewers either. Instead he unsheathes his sword and gets ready. I take out my knife and crouch, put all of my weight onto the balls of my feet.

 

It begins.

 

Cato doesn't waste time, he runs toward me with a cry, swinging the sword in a strong arc with both hands towards me, I fall into a roll and doge it, try to slash him from beneath with my knife but only hit his armor, he tries to get some distance between us, stepping back and holding the sword ready, but I press forward. I go for another try, this time stabbing forward, but Cato uses the sword in a wide, sweeping arc to parry the blow.

The strength behind his movement knocks my hand back painfully, and makes me stumble, even now, thinner than when we entered the arena, weaker, Cato is still stronger than me. In a split second he changes positions and grabs the sword with both hands above his head and slashes down. I dodge, as best I can, to my left, but his sword catches my right thigh and I feel a flash of pain burst out, in response I kick out towards his hand with the injured leg to make him let go of the sword. He releases it with one hand, the point is driven into the soft soil at his feet. I press forward, using the same leg I kicked out with to step onto the blade, and put all my weight on it. It splinters and breaks in two with a sharp crack, and Cato lets go of the hilt with a curse. The broken pieces fall under my heel, useless. Still, my opponent smiles, his eyes trained on my bloody thigh.

He grabs a knife he had hidden inside his jacket, unconcerned with the loss of his weapon. We take a moment to gather our breath. I notice that my slashes with the knife have left small, completely useless scratch marks on his golden armor.

Contrary to that, the wound inflicted upon my leg is deep, and though I don't feel much pain now, and he seems to have missed the catroid artery by an inch, the slash still sliced straight through the muscle, and so will slow me down.

I put my mind off of the cold feeling spreading from the injury and focus on my opponent, mind going a mile a minute trying to figure out some way around the golden armor. I'll have to aim under his arms or at his legs to get any damage done, or go for his face and throat, that are smaller targets.

We run towards each other again, knives ready, and exchange a few blows, circling around one another. Without the sword our reach is similar now, and so we try each other out experimentally. Cato still has the advantage. Years of training versus a few fights at the Hob and three days of Capitol training with Atala are not a good match up for me. He gets through my defensive strikes and parries and connects a slash with my collarbone, tearing my jacket, tearing my skin, then flips his knife and goes for a stab at my eye. I try to move out of the way, and instead of taking out my eye the blow slashes through my cheek and ear instead, deep enough that blood pools out. If I survive, I’ll have matching slashes to my cheeks and ears from both D1 tributes.

Meanwhile all I manage is a nick above his eyebrow that bleeds into his eye slowly.He stabs towards me, my shoulder, this time, and I try to parry. While he is preoccupied with overpowering me so that my own knife turns on me, I quickly dodge sideways, and when he stumbles forward,off balance for a fraction of a second, I draw out Glimmers hidden knife and with all my strength drive the thing under his arm.

Cato howls, and backs away from me quickly. He looks down in anger at his now bloody arm, and with the back of his hand cleans away the blood pooling down into his eye, then glares back up at me, promising pain. With a roar, he yanks out the knife from his side, and throws it far away from him.

Then he comes charging back at me. Unlike his previous movements, all refined training, now he uses his superior strength to his advantage. In the ensuing clash, both out knives get lost, and we fall to the ground, punching, elbowing, scratching, kneeling and kicking at each other. We wrestle for control, and Cato unsurprisingly manages to get above me, pining most of my body beneath his powerful legs, and with both hands starts to strangle me.

I get a glimpse of the absolute panic it is to have the air literally squeezed out of you by someone so much stronger than you. _This is what Glimmer must have felt_ flashes through my mind as I gasp for air, punching his face over and over, aiming at the bleeding eyebrow to see if he loosens his grip. But he doesn't, and I know he won't.

Instead of giving up or panicking more, I shift under him awkwardly, stretching to reach down into my boot and withdraw the weapon I hid there. It takes long, agonizing seconds to do so, but my fingers grab hold of the arrowhead and with it I stab into Cato's wrist, trying to make him _let me go._

With a cry his grip loosens marginally, though he doesn't let go, and I use the opportunity to knee him and break away from his grip, and I manage to crawl out from under him, coughing for air. As I do so, he kicks me in the stomach, and what little air I still had is pushed out of me, and I black out. It’s no longer than a second or two, thankfully, my body knowing that I'm in a incredibly dangerous situation and so rushes blood to my head immediately. I open my eyes, but the world tilts this way and that, everything seems blurry. Panicking, thinking that Cato is going to pounce back on me, I stumble to my feet and with a hand on my neck take a few faltering steps backward, looking around me frantically for my opponent. I can see his swaying image, kneeling where I left him, his one hand bloody and still with the arrowhead embed into it, growling in pain.

I try to blink my eyes rapidly to clear my swaying vision, but everything feels woozy, slow.. almost as if I where drunk again with Haymitch on the train… I can't seem to even stand up straight, my vision goes this way and that, looking at the trees, the sky- still red and purple and orange - how much time has passed? I don’t know… looking down to my bleeding thigh. I stare at the injury, and through the torn cloth, it seems as if the blood is darker than it should be, almost black, the skin that is exposed is hued purple. He must have poisoned the blade,I think, and I look back at Cato, who has once more pulled the sharp object I stuck into him out, and is now holding his wrist tightly to prevent the blood from pouring out. He seems to be trying to make a fist, but his fingers only twitch, and as I look at the position of the cut, I think it must be because the sharp edge of the arrow tore through all the ligaments and tendons connecting the hand, rendering it pretty much useless.

I’ve been trying to remain upright, but can no longer seem to find the balance needed to remain standing, my body crumpling like paper and I fall to my knees, using my left hand to support my weight on the ground as I lean forward. I stare at the grass under my palm, trying to concentrate, seeing beads of sweat mix with blood from my torn cheek fall to the ground, little droplets of red on the green and brown of the grass…. then I concentrate and look back up at my opponent.

He seems to have calmed down some, whipped the blood out of his eyes again, and walks slowly, his hand pressed against the wound under his right arm, the entire thing limply by his side, the same arm with his now useless hand.

"I always knew it was going to end up being you and me.” he says.

As he walks forwards, towards me, something catches his eye on the ground, and he stops,bending down to pick it up. When he straightens back up I see in his hands the broken blade of his sword. I use what little strength I have trying to straighten up, push myself off the ground, and end up just sitting back onto my legs, my head lolling slightly, feeling a numbness spreading from my leg up towards my waist and downwards towards my feet.

Now I feel the pain coming from the poisoned wound, as well as from the shallow scratch on my collarbone, and the one on my cheek and ear.

“I have to say… when I saw you stand up on that stage Gale, all the way back in 12, there was just this something about you. I had a feeling." He looks down at his broken sword with a smile as he advances towards me. He comes slowly, careful not to upset his wounds too much.

"I think thats why I let you join the group you know? No point killing you at the Cornucopia, though we could have, where is the fun in that? For me and for you and for the Capitol?"

He stops and makes a sweeping movement with the good arm holding the sword, smiling charmingly at nothing, but knowing that everyone in Panem is staring at his gloating face. Then he looks back down at me, continues his slow walk forward.

"And _man_ you've been worth the wait! That 11 boy, he didn't put up much of a fight, he was big yes, and great at running away, but in the end he was a disappointment."

The world focusses then blurs again, and I think, as I so often do, of home.

 

I am going to die.

 

It has been a difficult life, full of disappointment, rage, fear, hunger… and my death serves nothing more than a reminder to the people of our absolute powerlessness against the Capitol.

But at least it wasn't Rory.

I try to convince myself that it will be nice not to have to worry about food anymore, or of working in the mines where my father died, about Katniss and the damned reaping bowl. My wandering mind focusses on the idea of Katniss.  
What was she going to say that last time at the law building? I’ll— remember you? never forget you?

It could have been anything.

"There's a sort of symmetry to all of this don't you think? We both volunteered, we’re both 18, our final year in the bowl" continues Cato, who has by now reached me, and is standing, looking down at me.

He kneels on one leg in front of me, his working arm resting on the knee, the broken sword in his hand. At least he won't be able to decapitate me like he wanted to do with Clove with that broken thing.

 

Wait, Clove. My drifting mind focuses.

 

"In the end though, there really was no other way for this to end. You can’t compare coal to diamonds. Coals burn into ashes, diamonds last forever. The difference between me and you, is the same. You’re simply a coal-boy who burned too brightly and now is turning into a dying ember…"

Clove's weapon from the Feast.

"…you don't have that last bit of intensity needed to turn from being a tribute, into being a victor."

I look up into Cato's eyes, thinking clearly again. He thinks he's won. As does everyone else. But I can do this one last thing. Not to win, no, I've already come to understand that this is it, I'm dying. But I only have to hold on long enough, to fuck with the Capitol, my one last act of defiance.

I stare into his eyes. Cato’s little speech is over. I can see pain in there as well, and elation.

He clenches his fist around the sword and plunges it with all his might into my chest. I feel it hot, breaking skin, muscles, organs, bones.

The pain is unimaginable, indescribable.

Without his other arm to hold me steady, and without me having enough strength to keep us upright, both of us topple backwards, Cato has fallen on top of me, the broken blade pushed all the way to the hilt into my chest and between us.

I can feel the blood pour inside of me, a dreadful heaviness in my chest. Cato is smiling, extatic, and in his eyes I can see something change after all. He's right. something changes in you when you win. When you become a Victor.

I can feel all of my energy begin to leave, and yet still I try to lift my left hand… ignore death for just a little while longer.  
I just concentrate on Cato- In that moment I don’t think of Posy or Katniss or anyone. Not Mother, not Vick, Rory, not Thom, my childhood friend, not my dead father, or Clove, the dead girl from 5…  
Its just me.  
I want to live.  
I want to _live_.  
It takes all of my strength, and more than that. More than what I have to just… to do this one thing…. _just_ put my arm up to rest against Cato's shoulder, _just_ make a fist and twitch my fingers to release the weapon I've made out of Clove's gift.

Just pull the red ribbon and feel it fall loosely around my fingertips.

It’s a simple contraption. The ribbon is holding together the wire coiled around my wrist like a spring, with the thin, kunai dagger tied to the other end. Its set up the only way I could set it up, with so little materials and time to make anything else. When the ribbon is set loose the coil tightens, the other half of my broken arrow the detonator… it snaps the bones in my wrist, and with the pressure releases the kunai so that it’s launched from its hidden position, ripping through my jacket’s sleeve, out of my hand and towards my opponent.

I see the surprise register in Cato’s face first. Then comes the pain. The kunai tears into his neck and embs itself like a collar, going straight through his neck and the jugular. I think he tries to speak, but its more like a gurgle that he manages, and I see the blood begin to drip at first, then stream and spurt out from the wound.

He’s pretty much laying on top of me, and tries to stumble away, but with no control of his body, all he ends up doing is flopping besides me.  
I ignore him. I have my own problems. Namely, a broken sword through my chest.

I blink, looking upwards. Staring at the sky, now purple and dark and pink. The feeling of fullness in my chest, that pressure I feel… it's unbearable.  
I try to breath and find that I can’t anymore, I’m… drowning.  
It’s not even pain,  
…  
just

 

   pressure

.  
.  
.  
and

  
        -exhaustion.

 

My eyes focus and un-focuss, I can see Cato out of the corner of my eye, his head half a foot away from mine, not moving at all. His good hand has come up towards his neck, stained the dark red of his own blood.

My eyes stay open, but there’s darkness creeping around my vision.  
A canon sounds.  
then darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dunnnn. 
> 
> The quote is Veronica Roth... I thought it a fitting sentiment, on the edge of death or victory. 
> 
> Next chapter is the epilogue! I think I will have it finished some time next week.


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Never cared for what they say

Never cared for the games they play

* * *

I realize I’m awake a while after my senses start working again; my nose smells lyme air freshener, my tongue touches my dry paladar, I can feel the soft silken sheets underneath my fingertips.

It all seems amazing to me.

I never thought I would wake up again at all. And yet here I am.

I open my eyes and blink twice, slowly, gazing at the ceiling, amazed that I am here, wherever here is. I let my head fall sideways to my left and see Haymitch sitting there, his face serious and hiding between his intertwined fingers as his eyes stare at me intently.

We stay like that a while, blinking at each other, not saying anything while my body gets used to being awake again.

It feels like I’m rising from a deep hibernation, and that I’ve been in this bed for a while. Haymitch looks rugged, like always, and yet I’ve never seen his eyes as serious as they are now, as sober.

“How do you feel?” He asks, eventually.

I’m not quite sure how to answer him.

I feel… strange. There’s this feeling in my chest akin to dread that has been there for a while now, and that I’ve gotten used to. In the arena, it felt natural to be on edge, but now, I kind of expected it to be gone.

My body feels heavy. I move my extremities, my toes, my fingers. I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders and sit up. My body feels foreign.

“I don’t know…different. Strange.” I rasp out, my mouth dry.

Haymitch reaches for a glass of clear liquid on the bedside counter and hands it to me.

I think briefly about cracking a joke about alcohol, but it doesn’t feel right. I take the glass and gulp it down untill I finish it.

“Well, different is to be expected.” says Haymitch, "Congratulations, you’re a Victor now.”

 

Victor.

 

The word pierces through my still foggy brain with more clarity than anything else possibly could.

In a flash, I’m remembering the last time I was awake. Hours ago? Days? Weeks? My hand- the hand that should be useless now, wrist broken- goes automatically to my chest, where I expect to feel some sort of ghost pain. But I don’t. I breath in deep, trying to forget the feeling of drowning, on what I now realize must have been my own _blood_ , and then breathe out, lungs clear.

Victor.

I won.

 _I won_ the Hunger Games.

I look at Haymitch, my mouth open in a half smile, because- what the hell, I’m _alive_.

I was practically dead, I remember not being able to hold on anymore, falling into darkness. I remember _dying,_ how fucking twisted is that... and yet, here I am.

If that’s not something to be happy about, I have no idea what is. But somehow, it’s not happiness I feel. It’s not even relief.

“How?” I ask, because I can’t believe even Capitol medicine is that amazing. Not even the Capitol can bring people back from the dead.

Haymitch looks old. Tired.

Once more, I stop to wonder how long I’ve been out, and then I wonder how long he’s been here, looking over me. It doesn’t look as if he’s been sleeping much, if at all.

“As soon as Cato killed Thresh, Seneca Crane, the head game maker went crazy promoting the final battle. This is only his 3rd games, and they seemed to be the biggest thing since Finnick Odair won 9 years ago. So he looks at the popularity polls, sees that they are 3 to 1 in Cato’s favor. So Crane supplies him with medicine, engineers mutts to go after your bow and arrows, and waits for the final battle. Then during the fight, when you don’t die in the first 5 minutes, like expected, that poll changes, 2 to 1, still in Cato’s favor. And then you manage to injure him when you're practically dead, and the odds equal out 2 to 2.” Haymitch shakes his head, looks out the window.

“By this point, Seneca Crane has to sound a canon and black out the screens, because even he is not sure if the medical staff can revive either one of you if he waits any longer. From what I understand, you stopped breathing first, but Cato’s heart stopped before yours. That doesn’t mean anything to me, but either way, by the time you are in medical, both of you are dead, Crane has divided up the medical staff to stand by both of you, ready to see who they can revive and who dies, and the Capitol is rioting because they don’t know who the Victor is. And then the polls change again, and its 2 to 1 in your favor of having survived, and President Snow calls Crane personally to say that he’d prefer it if Cato is the one who is declared Victor, but if both of you die, Crane does too.”

He stops and stares at me, with his eyes trying to convey the severity of what he has just said. And yet, I don’t understand.

I begin to put the pieces together, but the puzzle’s image is still unclear to me. Cato and I, we were both dying- no. Dead. We stopped breathing, our hearts stopped beating.

And Snow wanted it to be Cato, at the end.

But...I’m still alive.

Something went wrong.

“So on one hand, Seneca Crane has the public’s popularity polls, he knows who they want to win. And on the other he’s got presidents Snow’s wishes. And he’s got two dead tributes on the operating table, and he’s got to chose, and fast. So he chooses you.”

There’s a knock on the door and Haymitch gets up to answer. I can see a Capitol nurse on the other side of the door. She says something in a low voice, Haymitch answers, but I can’t make out the words. She says something else, then Haymitch closes the door and walks back towards me.

He sits back on the chair and sighs, a hand going up to his face and massaging his temples. 

“As long as you’re quiet I might as well finish the story” he says.

“The head doctor explained all this shit to me afterwards, and I can get you a copy of the official medical report if you want, but technically, what was killing you fastest was a ruptured lung. With you flatlining on the table there was no time to grow you a new one, like they do nowadays, and apparently, you and Cato are a blood-match. You share similar height, weight, and proximity. They opened him up right there, while the District 2 mentor and I watched, cut out the lung from his body and put it into you. Sewed you back up, used some electricity, restarted your heart.”

I stare at Haymitch, then down at my chest, processing.

There’s a scar, thin, right over my heart.

It doesn’t hurt.

 

“The scar is aesthetic” says Haymitch with a weird tilt to his voice, it might be irony.

“If they didn’t want a scar, there wouldn’t be one. Be prepared to be shirtless for a while. It will probably get it removed in a few years when you’re old news. Thats what they did to Gloss in any case.”

Gloss, I remember, won the Hunger Games closet to a decade ago. He almost lost an eye in one of his fights .... after he won the scar over his eye he got during the encounter remained.... but now that I think about it, the last time I saw him, as a mentor or on a talk show, the scar was no longer there.

“Anyways," continues Haymitch, "to finish up, after you stabilized enough to get you breathing without machines, Crane got on television, announced you the Victor. The medics said it would be best that you stay asleep as long as possible, so you’ve been comatose for about a week now. It’s about 10am at the moment, tonight is the Crowning Ceremony.”

“Shit.” I say, and Haymitch snorts.

He gets up again and comes stand straight over my bed.

His face is grave once more.

“Gale, listen to me. This is important. I know you don’t get along well with the prep team. They’ll come in here as soon as I leave. Keep your mouth shut, do as they say. I know this is a lot to process… just…If you have any questions, you ask _me_. _Wait_ for me. I’ll come get you in a little bit."

After he leaves, I don’t fight the prep team. I let them prep me in a haze. Haymitch has unloaded too much and too little information on me at once. He's right about one thing though, the outfit they put me into is, in fact, shirtless.

After the prepping they take me back to my floor. I wander around a little, but the closed dolor of what used to be Mera's room makes me feel uneasy, so I go to my own room, and lie down.

 

I think about what I know.

 

I know I am alive. My hand goes back up to my chest. Breathing comes natural, and that naturalness itself unsettles me. My lung is no longer my lung, it belongs to someone I killed. One of the _five_ people I killed in the last month. For the first time since waking up, I think of my family, back home. My sibling made me promise to come back to them alive. And somehow it seems I'm going to do that. The things I've done to get here are horrible, but not more horrible than what others before me have done. Still, I decide not to think about it too much. What's done is done. I won. 

Haymitch also said any questions I should ask him, and that doesn't surprise me. Maybe, no, I'm sure that the walls in the Capitol have as many camera's and microphones as the Games themselves do, and what he's told me is that I am alive against _Snow's_ orders. What does that make me? How good or bad is that? Can I _use_ that, somehow, to my advantage?

I eventually fall asleep, and before I know it, the sun has set, and it's time for me to leave. 

 

Haymitch doesn’t come.

 

After I wake, I am picked up by Portia, and I follow her, still, as if in a trance. I’m prepped once again for the cameras, no hair pulling or shaving or hair cutting- just makeup and a horrible cape, similar to the gettup I had when I arrived, it burst into fire as soon as I step up into my carriage ride. 

I feel a sense of de ja vu- everything is so similar to the introduction of the Games… only difference is, this time, I’m alone.

There are holograms of me all around, Capitol people screaming at me, waving, grinning... I stare at then as they pass.

I can't even conjure the sense of disgust I usually feel, still overwhelmed with the morning's news.

That is, until my carriage stops, and at the end of the ride, I see him.

President Snow.

Unlike last time I was here, staring up at him from the ground, this time I am supposed to go up and meet him.

He is staring right back ay me, a small smile on his face. I feel inmense loathing and hate... and yet, above all else, somehow, fear. A shiver goes down my back. This is the man who orchestrated my failed death. 

I shake his hand, then I sit by him, as if detached from my own body. The crowd, Cesar Flikerman, the stage the screens... It feels so different from the games, I might as well be another person. And then the recap begins, and suddenly, I'm not detached, I'm right back in the games. 

I stare, my face probably slack from shock and terror as I watch.

 

They begin with the bloodbath, and I see from the outside what it looked like for me to kill the district 4 girl. They play out my confrontation with the careers, then the hunts for the other tributes. The day I kill the district 4 boy, they show me speaking with Clove, no audio, just clips of us sitting side by side, talking, eating. They show the explosion of our supplies.

They show something I hadn’t seen, and didn’t want to- Clove killing Ian. It’s as brutal as I expected it to be, and yet never wanted to imagine.

Marvel kills the girl from 11, then I kill the girl from 5… then my fight with Glimmer. Interestingly, they don’t show my time in the Cave, rather it's Cato on screen, hunting animals, stalking the plains for the district 11 boy. They show Clove kill Marvel, and then the Feast.

Clove dies.

Then the district 11 boy dies...then the mutts and then… For that final confrontation with Cato, I feel terrified, frozen to my seat as I watch. More so than I did when it happened.

My hand goes up to my chest. I trace the scar, as I watch us die.

It’s a straight cut though the skin slightly elevated, probably from inflammation, though I feel no pain from it, only a slight tingling sensation. It goes almost from my collarbone to my ribs. This scar is not the scar left by Cato’s sword-it’s simply there to mimmick it.

A fake.

And yet I feel like I’m drowning just touching it. It's slightly difficult for me to breathe. When the screen goes blank, a roar begins in my ears. It takes me a second to realize I am not imagining it, rather everyone in the coliseum is howling.

Cesar Flikerman takes my hand in his and raises it, and somehow the roar gets louder.

The interview… I don’t really remember it. My mind seems locked somewhere else, and I pay the bare minimum of attention. Cesar asks about Clove, and I think I say “my friend”… He asks about Cato, words the question as something of a duality, and I say "yes", and “my mirror”… He asks about home... and I say, “I’m ready to go back.”

 

Then, _finally_ , it's over.

 

On the train home, the next day it's just me and Haymitch. No Effie Trinket, no Portia, no avoxes or anyone else.

They are in another compartment, traveling with us of course. Ready to televise my return, to give out the resourses I won for the District, to welcome me to the Victor's Villa, my new home... and many other pointless and Capitol driven activities I will have to suffer through. 

But for now, just Haymitch and me. He closed the door, and I think said some pointed things to Effie Trinket to assure us that she stays away, and for that I am grateful. We remain quiet. I could try speaking with him, but his severe expression says it all.

Later.

I wonder when later will be. I wonder if it matters, now. The urgency of the arena is gone, the threat of death... gone. My hands goes to my chest, an action I do, consciously and unconsciously several times each hour. I'm wearing a thick shirt and a sweater on top, but I find the scar. Posy's beads catch the light with the movement.

I'm going home.

But I know, even before setting sight on the grey skies that surround District 12...things will never be the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Quote is Metallica Nothing Else Matters... only the greatest band and the greatest song. :D
> 
> Originally, my first ending was going be through Rory’s eyes, the aftermath after both Gale and Cato died, and what it would mean to have no victor. It would be several years later when Rory’s 18, and he volunteers as well, for a 11 year old boy just as Gale did for him. Prim is elected as the female tribute, because of course, and together they spark the beginning of a revolution that began with Gale and Cato’s death.  
> Or something.  
> Then I changed my mind. 😀 
> 
> Mostly because I also want to tell the story of what living as a Victor means, had there been no revolution or Victor’s back into the Quarter Quell… so I’m writing a sequel. It’s called Of Power and Punishment (like crime and punishment? the dostoyevsky novel... kind of how the title of this story is based on of mice and men. So clever, hahaha) I haven’t started it yet, and I’m going to take a whiiiileee to write it out...but in my head I’m about 3 chapters in and I know exactly what the quarter quell is going to be like. 
> 
> I might write the Rory alternate ending at some point as well because the possibility for angst. Who knows. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! I started this fic as an outline in 2016 after the movies began, it has a ton of errors and shit that at some point I will return and try to fix, but all considered i'm happy and seeing that 15/15 up top is the best. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all reviews, comments, head canons, suggestions. Until next time!


End file.
